Straight On 'Till Morning
by Medea1313
Summary: The children were eight, six and three when the ship came to rescue them. Kate thought she was free, but you can't escape the past. Jate, mostly.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: Just came off a Lost Season 2 binge, and couldn't help myself - I'm not sure how long this is going to be, or where it's going (except that it is definitely not over). I'm sort of ignoring the whole captured-by-the-Others thing, sorry. Just assume that all got worked out. They've been living on the island for quite a while. Everything else is in the story.

EDIT: Also, it was pointed out to me that in this chapter I used the wrong name for Kate's stepfather. That was just me being stupid, sorry. It is now fixed.

* * *

The children were eight, six and three when the ship came to rescue them. Two boys and a girl; Jack had wanted a girl. She found it funny that had Jack wanted a girl, when she herself was still shocked that any of them existed at all. Her babies, hers. She was a mother. 

They saw it first, the whole gaggle of kids, and came pelting into the camp in a tangle of limbs and shouting voices and overgrown hair. "Something out there, Mommy! Something really big, like bigger than the whole island big!" "You stupid, it's just a bird or something." "You're the stupid one, haven't you ever heard of _perspective_?" "What's that?" "Did you see it, it's coming closer!" "It's a _ship_ it _is_, I'm going to tell Jack!" "No, I'll tell him, he's _my_ dad!" "Well I'll tell my dad then!" "Who cares?" "I saw it first!" "No you didn't, I did!" "Liar!" "You're the liar!" "Mommy, why are they shouting? They just saw a bird."

She scooped Emma up, stepping into the center of the crowd. They quieted immediately, knowing the slate look in her eyes. "Where?" she asked. Aaron pointed, a head taller than the other kids. She followed the line of his hand and saw it, a triangle growing on the horizon. Not a sailboat, or a motor boat. Nothing that could dock here. A ship. It was far away still, but unmistakable. It was coming for them.

"Mommy, you're pinching me," Emma whispered, and Kate's head jerked towards her daughter, having forgotten, momentarily, that she existed.

A split second later, her hands relaxed. "Sorry, honey," she said, pressing an absent kiss on her forehead, her lips catching a dark curl. "I was just surprised."

Emma's arms settle around her neck. "Are they going to take us back to where you come from?" Emma asked.

This broke the cloud of silence that had fallen over the other children. They started babbling excitedly about what they would do when they got there, and what they could take with them, and would they have to go to real school when they got there? Kate blinked, trying to think above the rising tide of excited questions. Activity was increasing on the beach. Other people had seen the ship. A small crowd was gathering near the water, pointing, exclaiming.

"Hea!" Sun hurried up, reaching for her daughter. "Did you see?" Her eyes lifted to Kate, stunned and shining. Hea grabbed her arms, bouncing and speaking quickly in a tumbling mix of English and Korean.

"The kids saw it first," Kate said. She didn't recognize her own voice, it sounded so calm. She smiled and ruffled Will's hair with the arm that wasn't holding Emma. He squirmed under her touch; he was at that age. She had to fight to keep herself from grabbing a fistful of it, pulling him tight to her. A ship, a ship was coming. "How long do you think before it gets here?"

"I don't know, a few hours?" Sun guessed, placing a calming hand on her daughter's head. "We are going to light a signal fire, just to make sure they see us." She paused, really looking at Kate for the first time. A flicker of the past crossed her face, but Kate bounced Emma, and smiled, and Sun smiled back. "It's real, isn't it? You see it too?"

"It's real," Kate said.

"Mommy," Emma said again, more insistent, "are they going to take us?" Sun smiled dazedly at Kate, and Hea asked her a question and they moved off towards the growing crowd. The other kids drifted away, looking for parents, chattering excitedly.

Kate swallowed the rising bile in her throat and shook her head. "I don't know honey. We don't even know who they are." She wanted to put Emma down, and run, but a slight move in that direction tightened Emma's arms around her neck. "Will, Matt, run and get your dad, okay?" The strain was beginning to tell in her voice, a higher tone.

"But Mom—"

"It'll still be here," she said firmly. "Go." They exchanged looks, her little dark haired boys. Will rolled his eyes, and then Matt rolled his eyes because he did everything Will did, and added a sigh, to further express his sympathy with Will's position. Which made Will roll his eyes again. Kate's lips twitched. "Go!" They went, Will tall for his age, gangly, and Matt a little rounder, baby-faced still, but right on his heels.

"Mommy," Emma said firmly, putting her hands on either side of Kate's face and turning it so Kate had to look at her. So bossy, just like her father.

"Yes," Kate said, mimicking Emma's serious tone.

"Are there really princesses where you come from? _Really_ really?"

They had a game: three truths and a lie. The grown-ups told the kids three truth things and one made up thing that existed "where they came from," and the kids guessed which one was made up. The grown-ups always won, but the kids remained skeptical about such things as Gameboys and Twinkies and governments.

"There are a few. Not in America, which is where Daddy and I are from, but in other parts of the world. Like, England. And, uh, some other places in Europe, I think. But they're not like fairy tale princesses."

"Why not?"

"Well, they usually don't have fairy godmothers… and they were real shoes."

"Mommy! Stop being silly."

"I am perfectly serious."

It was easy to be perfectly serious about princesses.

"Will we see them? Real princesses?"

"I don't know, Em. I don't know what's going to happen. It might be… it might be nothing, we could be wrong. Or it could be a trick."

"Like what the Others used to do?"

"Yes, like that. So don't get too excited about it okay?" Good advice, Kate, stick to that advice. Don't get too worked up. Don't think about it at all.

"Kate!" She spun around, as Jack emerged from the underbrush onto the beach. The boys were right behind him, panting. They threw themselves on the sand, Will and then Matt, throwing out their arms to illustrate how hard they had worked to keep up. Jack put his hand on the small of her back, and looked out, onto the water. Further down on the beach, Sayid and Jin had already started a small fire, and others were bringing wood, leaves, anything that would burn.

"They're coming," she said, following his gaze out to sea. The triangle had grown. A cruise ship? An naval something-or-other? Why now? She thought they had found the last untouched piece of the earth, but she had been too optimistic. Oh god.

"Jack," she said, panic beginning to slip into her voice. Emma felt very heavy.

"Hey, it's okay."

His voice was not soothing, even though he meant it to be. She knelt, slowly, and placed Emma on the ground. "Daddy and I need to talk for a minute. Stay on the beach with your brothers, okay? Don't go too close to the fire."

"Watch her," Jack said to Will with a nod. Will straightened up, nodding back. With her, he whined and fidgeted, but with his father he wanted to be a man, wanted to prove something. They were all Jack's kids, she thought, not for the first time, more than they were hers. She hated herself for thinking that, and kissed Emma before letting her go, and touched Matt's shoulder as she passed him.

They walked ten feet in silence before Kate's legs gave out. She sat down, on the path, and it took Jack a minute to notice. He kept walking, five, ten paces, and then missed the sound of her footsteps behind him and turned around. Her legs felt numb. She pressed her head into her hands, raking her hair back from her face. "There's still time," she said.

He crouched beside her. "Time for what, Kate?"

She lifted her head and looked at him. He had shaved a couple days ago, ridiculous since their last blades were down to slivers, and the stubble growing in burned her cheeks at night. But he liked to pretend they were all still civilized. "They won't know who we are, at first. It'll take time for them to communicate, to sort things out. Names, and then pictures to go with names—"

"And what are you planning to do with that time?" His voice was hard, the voice she hated. He was judging her, already. Years and years they had lived on this island, and worked side by side, and lived with and in each other, and one glimpse of the old world and he was judging her again. How quickly they all reverted to their true colors.

"I don't know!" she snapped. "I'm just trying to think, I'm trying to figure out—"

"How to run away?" Jack supplied. He was so goddamned cold. Was there a glimmer of panic behind the mask? Kate stared at him, his handsome, beloved face. She was doing this wrong, they always did this wrong.

"What am I supposed to be thinking about, Jack?" she asked bitterly. "How when we get home I'll go on a shopping spree and call my mother?"

"No, we should be thinking about this together—"

"That's what I was trying to do, before you started yelling at me!"

Their voices overlapped with anger and fear; and then silence. She leaned her head into her hand, her fingers on her forehead, and then pushing back, again. Her hair swung over her shoulder, as she turned to look away, at a nearby tree. She'd caught Will climbing it a few years ago, too high, and he had refused to come down. She climbed up after him, and by the time she caught up to him she wasn't mad, just amazed at how long it had been since she had climbed so high, and she had tickled him, careful not to upset their balance, and they had been laughing up there when Jack found them, and stood below terrified and angry as they climbed silently down.

"I'm sorry," he said finally. She turned her head to look at him. The mask had melted: his mouth was no longer set so hard, and his eyes were seeing her, not his fear of what she might be.

"I know."

He reached out and smoothed back a curl, touched her neck. "You okay?"

She shook her head silently. He sucked in a breath and she leaned into him, her head against his shoulder. Their hands clasped, and they sat like that a moment. Kate stared at the greenery, and felt Jack rest his lips against her head, felt him thinking. He would want to fix this, but he wouldn't know how.

"Let's go somewhere more private," he suggested, as noise from the beach increased. She nodded and he helped her up, as if she were an invalid. He kept hold of her hand as they walked, down the path for a ways and then veering off. They settled in a little clearing, Kate sitting on a rock and Jack pacing. She leaned her elbows on her knees and watched him move, stop, put his hands on his hips. She should just seduce him, strip his jeans off and straddle those hips as she had done a thousand times – not think about anything, just enjoy the moment. Jack probably wouldn't go for that.

"We could stay here," he said, even though she knew she didn't want that, wouldn't really accept it.

"With publicity – they'll still want a full accounting of everyone. Even if they let people stay, they'll want to know who."

"We could hide out until they're gone."

She gave him a look that only managed to express a fragment the stupidity of that suggestion. "With the kids? And what, we hide every time anyone else comes? And what if we're the only ones to stay, how long do you think we'd make it without going crazy and killing each other? And… and you want to go home, Jack. I know you do. After a while, you would hate me for keeping you here. And the kids too. All their friends go off to this magical place they've heard about all their lives, and they stay here on an island with no opportunity, trapped—" She broke off. That was a clear enough portrait, thanks very much.

He had stopped moving, was staring at her. "I would stay," he said.

She sighed, shook her head. "I know. That's the point. You _would_ stay. But not because you want to be here. It's not — it's not an option, Jack."

"Then what?"

"Like I said, maybe there'll be time, before we're all known. Maybe—"

"You can slip away? Or do you see this as a family activity?"

She shook her head again, mute, frustrated. She tried to picture them, running, and saw Tom, and the shattered glass of the windshield.

As if he could read her thoughts, Jack said, "Remember what happened last time you tried to involve innocent people?"

She was on her feet before she knew it, glaring at him. "I told you that in — do _not_ try and use that to — to _win_ or whatever it is you're doing. I would _never_ put the kids in danger, you know that."

He turned away, restless and angry. She wanted to punch him. She kept seeing Tom, and the blood, and the glass. "Jack."

"I know," he said, "I know, I'm sorry." He turned back, tried to put his arms around her. She shook him off, slid her hands into her back pockets. He let her.

"I could alter a passport," she said. "I know how. There are extras, floating around. I could be someone else."

"For how long? They're going to have everyone we ever knew come and greet us. What will you say to someone's mother, who's been told that her daughter's alive?"

In the past the passport would have been enough. She wouldn't have waited to meet the mother; she would have felt bad, but not bad enough to stop, or get caught.

"We could split up temporarily," she suggested. "You take the kids, and I would meet you somewhere, once things calmed down. Some other country, where they wouldn't look for us. You can practice medicine anywhere. And if we could survive here, we can survive something else, someplace new."

"How would I explain the kids?"

"Just say I died. There's enough graves, no one would question. You would get to play the emotionally scarred but stoic single father; I'm sure you'd _love_ that."

He shot her a look, but didn't respond to the jibe, instead asking pointedly, "How would I explain _to_ the kids?"

"How would we explain that where Mommy came from is a jail cell?" Kate snapped back.

"Actions have consequences, Kate."

She wanted to punch him again. She knew this was because he was scared, and he didn't want to lose her, and he didn't want to lose control. Still. "Don't you think I know that, Jack? I never claimed to be perfect. But you do not get to judge me, not after everything we have been through. You do not get to tell me that I should go rot in jail for the crimes of another life, while you take our children back to your perfect life, to be _perfect_ little citizens of your _perfect_ world!"

"I never said that! Or that I was perfect, or had a perfect life. Don't put words into my mouth."

"It's not what you say, it's what you think. I know what you think of me."

"What? That you're the person I want to spend the rest of my life with? That you're human, like everyone else?" He was staring at her as if she was crazy. She wasn't crazy.

"No, that I am flawed, and broken, and it is your job to take care of me, and to take care of them, and be the hero, and the protector, and that one day I might be too flawed, I might be too _human_, and you might have to let me go."

"Let you go?" Jack repeated incredulously. He gave a short, humorless laugh and shook his head. "The point is that I will not let you go." Growing serious, he stepped closer and gripped her arms; his hands were rougher than they used to be, used to chopping wood now and not just people. "You're the one that wants to run away, Kate. It's the only thing you know. Well I am going to hold onto you. I am going to hold on with both hands, no matter what you do or say."

"So you'd rather see me in jail than somewhere you're not," Kate flung back, twisting her arms out of his grip. "At least then I'm under control, right?"

"What is wrong with you?" He grabbed her again, his fingers digging in to her arms. "I don't want you to go to jail. I don't want to lock you up, Kate, I have never wanted to lock you up." She didn't want to look at him, to see his desperate eyes. He let go, suddenly, as if realizing that his actions were running counter to his words. "And in case you forgot, you wanted kids too. You chose this responsibility, this life. You don't owe me, maybe, but you owe them."

"I _owe_ them? You think you have to guilt trip me into staying with my own children, Jack? Is that what you thought of me, all these years?"

"Not like you haven't thought about it," Jack snapped. "I know that look in your eyes Kate. The panic. Too bad we've been trapped on an island."

Oh, here they went again. "Jack, if I had wanted to leave you, I could have left you. Believe me, I could have." They'd had this fight so many times she couldn't even count. She wanted to laugh, at how ridiculous it was. They were being rescued. She was going to be carted off to prison for the rest of her life, and Jack was going to go home with her babies and resume his suburban lifestyle, and they were fighting about something that had never happened.

"Right. Of course. How stupid of me not to notice your unwavering commitment. I'll make a note to myself next time – oh wait, Sawyer has the only paper on the island. Think he'll make a note for me?"

"This is not about Sawyer! This is about you, not trusting me. Never trusting me. I have given you no reason to doubt me—"

"Except _murdering_ someone."

If she had known, all those years ago, that someday she would love a man, and he would be able to throw those words at her, would she have killed Wayne? Yes. No. It didn't matter; she would never have been on this island, if not for Wayne. No Jack. No Will, or Matt, or Emma. She would probably be serving hash browns in a diner somewhere, just like her mother. Or maybe she'd be dead.

It still hurt.

"Get away from me," she said, spat it across the clearing at him, and turned to walk away. Can't escape the past. Can't change. Let's not ever grow up, Peter, let's stay in Neverland forever.

She walked into the wall of green, and he did not follow her.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: A reader pointed out that I had given the wrong name for Kate's father/stepfather/the man she killed (his name is really Wayne). Thanks for the heads up!

* * *

They never married. It seemed beside the point, somehow, by the time they might have. They joked about it sometimes; Kate fretted aloud about what she would wear, and Jack pointed out the tax benefits. But they both looked away before the discussion became serious. Marriage belonged somewhere else, somewhere they were not. 

Will was a surprise, as much as a baby can be when two people are regularly having sex without birth control. There were no pregnancy tests then, just Jack being too observant. He asked her one morning if her breasts were sore. "Did you do something to them while I was asleep?" Kate asked, bemused and just slightly worried. He smiled, ducking his head a little. They were lying on his pallet, half-awake, half-dressed. She traced the corner of his mouth with her fingertips, enjoying the rare upward curve.

"They're bigger," he said, looking up.

She peeked under the blanket at her tank-top covered boobs. "Bigger?"

"You haven't noticed?" he asked incredulously.

"You have?"

"Well, yeah, I—"

"—you're a doctor, I know."

"I was going to say that I really like your breasts."

She laughed, pleasantly surprised. He slid a hand under her tank top, against her stomach. He pushed himself up onto one elbow and looked down at her intently. "What?" she asked softly.

"Kate, have you really not thought about this?" he asked.

"About what? Jack, what are you talking about?"

"Your breasts are swollen. You've been a little tired lately. You haven't had your period in—"

"Jack!"

"I sleep with you, I'm going to notice things like that," he said.

"Well I'm not that regular here," she muttered, blushing faintly, even though for the life of her she didn't know why. They were both adults. He arched his eyebrows at her, skeptical, and it dawned on her suddenly what he was talking about. Her eyes widened, staring up at him. "You think I'm—"

"We haven't exactly been that careful," Jack pointed out.

"We counted."

"Only when we felt like it."

Oh god. "Jack," she said, for no reason, except to prove that he was there, she was not alone in this. Pregnant. That meant: a baby, and an enormous weight gain, and Jack delivering their child on an island with no anesthesia, and then there being a child, and oh god.

"You okay?" he asked softly, the little furrow appearing on his forehead. Jack would be a good father, she thought. The kind of father kids should have. Not like… some people. But if Jack was a father, then she would be a mother. And that was really more of a toss-up.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"Okay," he said, nodding slightly. He moved to sit up, and she panicked, pulling him back towards her. He had to catch himself, with an arm on other side of her, to avoid crushing her. "Hey! It's okay." He was hovering inches above her, brushing her breasts, which _were_ sore, his eyes open and concerned and a thousand things.

"Tell me we can do this, Jack," she said.

"We can do this," he said.

"Promise."

"I promise, Kate. We can do this. You and me."

"Okay," she said. "Okay." She reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck, her legs around his hips, and slowly drew him down until his full weight rested on top of her, uncomfortable and precious and real, pushing her into the ground.

* * *

Sawyer found her by the pond. "Why aren't you down on the beach celebrating, Freckles?" he asked. "It's getting to be a real party. Except, you know, without booze, or topless girls."

"Give it your best guess, Sawyer," Kate suggested. She was shredding grass, taking it apart with her fingernails.

"You know better than to party without liquor?" He sat down on a rock a few feet away. She briefly wished he had come closer, and then was glad he had not. She looked up at him, finally. He was watching her without a smile to match his flippant words. "You got a plan?"

She shook her head, briefly. "I'm working on it."

"I have a couple passports," he offered.

"I know."

He shook his head at her, her confidence that she could have what she wanted from him. But he was the one here offering. "There's not much time," he said.

"I _know_."

"I got it all figured out," he drawled, voice changing. She looked up with arched brows, waiting for his brilliant plan. "I'm gonna get my own TV show. One of those reality ones, only this'll be like a mix between the people all stuck on the island, and the one where the girls are competing to marry the guy."

"Which one, the one where the guy's rich, or the one where he's a schmuck pretending to be rich?" Kate asked, amused and distracted despite herself.

"Well with all my fame and the check they cut for me to star in the show, I'll be rich enough," Sawyer said. "Plus, Hurley owes me half a million dollars. I'm gonna make that fat bastard work off every penny, just you wait."

"Right. So let me get this straight: there's you, a bunch of women on an island — and they all want to marry you? I wouldn't have pegged you for the marrying type."

"Who said marry? I think the pleasure of my company should be enough for them," Sawyer said. "Maybe a little roll down on the beach…"

Kate arched her eyebrows, and then glanced out at the pond. "I bet they'll put me on television too. Only it'll be one of those biopics — small town girl goes bad, turns cold-blooded murderess, but gets a second chance when she's stranded on a desert island! Can people really change? Find out tonight at 9!"

"I like my idea better," Sawyer grumbled.

"No, no, it'll be great. They'll interview all of you, and people will start remembering that time when I yelled at the kids, and how I always knew how to handle a gun… And then they'll start suggesting things, like maybe I was behind that mysterious death in the jungle. Maybe I just made the Others up, to hide my own nefarious intentions. I sure fooled them. They're just glad I'm locked up now, where I belong."

"You ain't locked up yet," Sawyer reminded her.

She stopped, pulled out of her fantasy. Looking right at him she said, "And Jack will go on, and try to defend me, but they'll just say I tricked him with my wiles. And after a while, he'll believe it. And the kids—" she faltered, stopped.

"So. what? Jack's convinced you to go back and face justice?" Her face closed up. He laughed, disbelieving. "God in Heaven, Freckles. He got you so tied up in knots—"

"Stop it, Sawyer." She was angry at Jack, but this didn't help. It just made her feel guilty, which made her more in Jack's power, if that's where she was.

And then he was there, kneeling in front of her, his hands on her shoulders and his face a few inches away. It was funny to think of how long it had been, the scars on his face that were old and worn-in now. He smelled the same. "You could do it," he said, urgently. "I have what you'd need, you could hide on the boat if you had to, and just slip off when—"

"You mean 'we,'" she said, just for clarification. "_We_ could do it."

He drew back a little, defensive but not retreating. Tipped his head at her. "Maybe I do."

She closed her eyes. This was easier to picture than the other: Sawyer and her, in Fiji, in Bangkok, Sawyer laughing and conning someone out of their car, and driving up a mountain road, the top down, and fucking in a motel room, in the car, his hair in her mouth and her eyes. She opened her eyes. He was looking at her with unvarnished need. She hated that look too, but for a different reason than she hated Jack's judgment.

"I can't," she said, and then because she knew that wasn't enough for him, "I don't want to." Which was a lie, in a way. But the same kind of lie as making a choice had been, years before. The kind of lie that becomes the truth, when you let it live there long enough.

He swore, and stood up, pacing away, swinging back. She sunk her head down, again, into her hands. He hurt, and she hurt, and she wanted to, she did want to. Live with the lie, Kate, she told herself, it'll become true.

"Fine," he snarled. "Rot in jail, see if I care." And he was gone. And she'd already shredded all the grass in her hands.

* * *

After Matt was born, Kate stopped getting up in the morning. The birth had been difficult, but it wasn't that; physical pain she could deal with. It was just that when she woke up every day, there was nowhere to go. The baby slept, snug against her skin, and she pretended he was closer still. Will ran in and out, and showed her how he was learning to jump. Sun sat with her, and Hurley, and Rose. Why should she leave?

She spent most of the day in bed then. She would get up to use the privy, stretch her legs, gather food. She would sit on the beach and watch Will run in the surf. But most days, she woke up, and turned over, and lay there, staring at the blue tarp ceiling, at the carefully packed down earth, at Matt's tiny curling fingers and his open mouth.

If he cried she would panic, even though she'd had a baby before. This seemed different. He was smaller, paler, she could see his veins and the pulsing beat in the center of his head. She thought she was going to break him. Sometimes she thought, so quietly and horribly, that she wanted to.

It was a bad time. Jack would take Matt out to get some air, and she would sit still and hate him for taking her baby, and cry. She would go two days without speaking, and then yell at him for tracking sand into the shelter. She would make plans to escape, at night, when Jack was asleep beside her, and then he would touch her arm and she would begin to weep, silently, because she loved him and she was going crazy, and everyone she loved got hurt, one way or another.

Jack could have left her then. He could have moved tents, and taken the children, everyone would have understood, would have helped. The boys might have been better off, and he certainly would have been. But he stayed. Occasionally, she harbored the bitter thought that he might like her better like that, broken; it gave him something to work with. But in truth, he didn't try to fix her, he simply stayed. And eventually, she got fixed, or fixed herself. Eventually, she saw Matt as himself, and not as frightening, trapped piece of her. Eventually, she went swimming in the sea again, and combed her hair out with her fingers, and practiced jumping with Will, hands clasped together. Eventually she smiled at Jack, and kissed the hollow of his throat. Jack never said anything about it, during or after. He just stayed.

* * *

On the beach, the mood was both jubilant and wary. Someone — probably Jack, or maybe Sayid — had organized a defense squad, the usual men with the usual guns. Their ammunition stash had dwindled to a joke, so hopefully it wouldn't come to that. On the other side of the spectrum, Claire and Charlie were cooking a feast. Welcome to our island, and thanks for saving us! Kate thought, giving them a quick wave as she passed. They waved back, and nudged Aaron and Sarah, who waved too. Sarah stole a piece of mango from the grill as Kate watched. Rose saw her, shook her head, bounced baby David who was starting to cry, wanting his mother. Claire turned to coo at him over her shoulder, her hands still busy with the food, and absently cuffed Sarah's fingers when she reached for another piece. Charlie slung his daughter over his shoulder, turning her in circles as she squealed and laughed and banged on his back with her little fists. The view was obscured by other kitchen helpers, returning with fresh fish.

It was just like any day. Except that instead of the wide expanse of ocean, an enormous white bulk loomed on the horizon. Did it say Princess Cruise lines on the side? Good thing Emma couldn't read yet, Kate thought, they'd never hear the end of it. The ship was almost stopped now; it was probably about as close as it could come. They'd lower motor boats soon, come scout the territory. Along the edge of the bow she could make out figures, clusters of people: tourists trying to get a look at what was going on on the beach. Their vacation was about to get a lot more interesting.

Vacation. Kate almost laughed, thinking about people coming here, to get away. White sand beaches, sunshine, bounteous nature: a perfect haven to relax and revive. Too bad she didn't feel relaxed or revived. This might be her last vacation, Kate thought. One ten year beach party to prepare her for life in prison. Too bad no one had sent her the memo earlier, she would have partied more and spent less time gathering food for the winter.

Jack was organizing the welcome party. He glanced up at her as she approached, and then down at the ground again. Was that guilt in his eyes, or disappointment? "Can I talk to you?" she asked. She was still mad at him, but what she had to say was more important than that.

To his credit, he didn't hesitate. He excused himself and followed her up the beach. She crossed her arms under her breasts, eyed him. He looked expectantly back.

She was crazy. But she was going to say it anyway. "Make me an honest woman, Jack."

The phrase had popped into her head on her way back from the pond, and had refused to go away. It just sat there, taking over her brain with its ridiculous connotations and double, triple, whatever meanings. And now it was in the air, between them, and Jack squinted at her, like he misunderstood, which was entirely possible. She wasn't entirely sure which meaning she wanted him to take from it anyway. _Make me admit my mistakes_ or just _Marry me._

"You mean… Now?"

"You were hoping to wait and get a conjugal visit?" Kate asked, digging into the sand with her toe. He shook his head, half-smiled, stopped, and then started again.

"Really?"

She lifted a shoulder in reply. Really. "This way when they interview you on TV, they'll be able to say 'husband' and not just 'her babies' daddy.'"

"What?"

She had gone completely insane. She waved a hand, indicating it wasn't important. He grabbed it, and with his other hand turned her face toward him. The anger, or fear, or whatever it was had vanished from his eyes. Here was tender Jack, for a moment, her lover, her friend. "Are you sure?"

No, of course she wasn't. Was he? "I'm sure," she lied. It was a day for lies. Though he was making an honest woman out of her, wasn't that the point? At least his name would buy her some time; she could tell herself that was why she'd proposed it, though that was a lie too. He looked puzzled but not upset.

"Are _you_ sure?" she asked, feeling she had to give him a chance to back out, even though he was Jack, and wouldn't take it, even if he wanted to.

His brow creased, and then he smiled suddenly, and said, "Yeah. I guess I am." He leaned in to kiss her, briefly, sealing the pact. She wondered if his taste would change with an American diet, what his lips would feel like when chapstick existed again.

"A resounding yes," she laughed as they pulled apart.

He cupped her face in his hands. "When we have grandkids, can we pretend I proposed to you?" he asked.

Her eyes widened in alarm. Granted they would probably have grandkids someday whether or not they ever got married, but he just had to mention it at that moment, didn't he? He laughed at her expression. "Not so sure now, are you?" he teased.

"Jack," she protested half-heartedly, but she was glad he was teasing now, and not calling her horrible, true things. Maybe this would be enough for him.

"Well, what do you say?"

"Are you asking me to lie to save your manly pride?" Kate demanded.

"Why don't we talk about this later?" he suggested. His fingers stroked her cheek, lightly, as he began to pull away. She found herself smiling, happy, despite the ship and their fight and the terror hovering just beyond the grasp of words.

"Good idea."

"I'll get Eko," he said, letting go of her. "Why don't you get the kids?"

"You're not supposed to see me before the wedding," she remembered aloud.

He was already starting down the beach, and he called back over his shoulder, "We'll just have to risk it."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: This one's a little short and a little sappy, sorry (unless you like the sappy, and c'mon, who are we kidding, it's fan fiction _of course you do_!) More angst and plot to come in future installments.

* * *

Matt asked why they couldn't wait, the boats were going to come soon and he wanted to see. Emma insisted that Kate put a flower in her hair, and had to find the perfect one: enormous and white, with pale gold motes like the footprints of bees.

Eko was already in the church, praying. He was not surprised to see them. "It is a day for great changes," he said, and asked the children to sit down in the front row. Matt put his chin on his knees and gazed up at them wide-eyed, and Will crossed his arms on his chest and pretended not to pay attention. Emma refused to sit; she wanted to be a flower girl, which she was convinced meant dancing along with the ceremony.

They skipped the walking down the aisle bit: no one to give her away. In a sense, Wayne had already walked her down that aisle, by bringing her here. His one fatherly deed, post-insemination.

"Can we – I'd like to say my own vows," Jack said, before Eko could begin.

"Of course. Kate?"

"I didn't have time to—"

"It doesn't matter," Jack assured her. "You don't have to—"

"No, I will. Say my own vows, I mean." She couldn't let Jack one-up her, not now. He smiled as if he knew what was going through her head, and she smiled back, ruefully.

She didn't pay much attention to the rote ceremony parts. She watched Jack, who was watching her right back. It would have been easier to just say to him, I am not going to run away, but he wouldn't have believed that. He never had before, no matter what she said or did. Maybe this would be enough for him. Or maybe nothing would ever be enough for him, short of her walking voluntarily into a cell. She had to try this, first.

"We don't have rings," Jack said, when it came to that part.

"Just pretend," Kate said, holding out her hand.

He took it, lightly touching her ring finger, and turned her hand palm up. After a second he looked up at her, his dark eyes wide and soulful, and she could feel him getting to her, all of his emotion tunneling right beneath her skin. "It's just us here," he began, "so I'm not going to try to make this pretty. That's… not my strong point." Her lips quirked, and he went on. "I want to start by saying that I'm sorry, for what I said earlier. Maybe this isn't the place—" he glanced at Eko "—but it should be said, before…"

She nodded, acknowledging the apology. He nodded back and then took a deep breath, continuing. "I have — had, I hope — a habit of driving people away, and only realizing it after they're too far gone to bring back. And I don't want that to happen with you." He paused, grimacing slightly as he tried to force the words, "That's not… it's not 'not wanting.' It's… fear. I can't lose you. So today, and at other times in the past, when I began to feel maybe you were starting to slip away from me, I overreacted. I was so scared that I would unintentionally push you away, or even just let you go without doing everything I could to stop you, that I tried to hold on too tight, or tried to blame you, make it about you and not about me. But it's about me. And about the fact that I… need you. I need you."

He looked down, and Kate's hand tightened in his, forcing his eyes back up. He needed to look at her when saying this, and she needed him to be looking at her. His eyes were glossy with unacknowledged emotion, the same that she felt swelling in her throat. He always broke right into her, even when he couldn't break into himself.

Their eyes held for a long moment, and then he kept going, his voice faltering over the first syllables. "I love you, Kate. And I don't know what's going to happen, but whatever it is, it's going to happen to both of us. Whatever you did, whatever choices you made, they are my choices too. They're part of you, and you are part of me. So wherever we go, whatever you need to do, I will be there at your side, if you let me. I don't want to lock you up, or control you. I just want to _be there_." She closed her eyes, because it was too much, and missed the smile he forced through his tears as he said, "And that includes the…law, and it includes grandchildren, and, and who gets to hold the remote control." She laughed, a startled burble, and opened her eyes again. He was still looking at her. "See, I have a sense of humor," he said.

"No, you don't," she whispered, shaking her head.

He carefully wiped the tears off of her cheeks and said, "Yes, I do," very seriously. She nodded, holding down the noise growing inside her chest. She nodded, and wiped her cheeks again, licked her salty lips.

"Kate?" Eko said, turning to look at her.

She sucked in a breath, and looked back at Jack. "You made me cry," she whispered.

"I'm sorry."

"No, it's okay. Because you don't usually make me cry. You're… you're a good guy. You're pretty much the first good guy I have ever…" She shook her head, and after a moment she said, "Sometimes I think you are too good. And I am not good enough. I have done a lot of things I regret, and other things I don't regret, but that I probably should. I think, maybe it's unfair to ask you to take those things on, to take me on. And that part of me that thinks that, thinks that it might be better if I made it a clean break — if I protected you, by removing myself from the picture." His hand tightened around hers, and she shook her head. "But I've never been able to do that. And I won't do it. Because the truth is, we are both screwed up, in different ways. And we pull each other up and pull each other down. And I think we do okay. We've made some good things together." They both looked at the children, and smiled. Emma had sat down next to her brothers, and was looking sleepy: too much talking, too many big words. Will had shed his oldest-brother-tough-guise and was chewing on the collar of his shirt. Matt was still and silent, his eyes flickering from parent to parent, taking everything in. She hoped they didn't understand all of this, for their sakes.

"We have," Jack agreed.

"My point is, I'm not going anywhere. Being here, on the island, with you, and our children, is the first time in my life that I have been… really _happy_." This startled them both; they looked at each other with wonder that this should be true.

"I need you to trust me, and trust that, and know that I am incapable of running, and I am incapable of being the person I used to be. You have gotten inside my head, and made me someone else. Maybe you taught me to — what was it? Count to five? Because I am scared, I am really scared, but I'm not running. I am going to stay with you, until they pull me—" She choked on the words, and he caught her face in his hands, holding her steady. She opened her diaphragm, breathed. He was crying again, or she was. "Trust me."

"I do," he said.

"You skipped ahead," Eko chided very gently. Kate smiled, wiped her eyes, and Jack blinked the tears off his eyelashes.

"Let's do this right then," Jack said. "If you're done?"

"I don't know, what are vows supposed to be?" Kate asked lightly. "Did I mention that I love you? I think I forgot that part."

"I know."

Her hands tightened around his and then she turned to Eko and nodded, once.

"Do you, Jack Shepard, take this woman, Katherine Austen, to be your wedded wife before the eyes of God, and your children?"

"I do," Jack repeated, firmly.

"Do you, Katherine Austen, take this man to be your wedded husband before the eyes of God, and your children?"

No going back from here. Kate pictured Sawyer's hair falling into his eyes, and Tom's airplane, and Jack kissing her rounded stomach, and the ship coming to take them all away. "I do," she said.

"I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride." Eko was smiling, gently, so sure that he had done well in this. Kate wondered if he had heard what they said at all, how anyone could think this was a good idea. Except it was the best idea she ever had.

They were married. She tilted her head up for a kiss, for his salt sand taste and the scrape of his stubble on her upper lip, for his doctor's hands on the flat of her back, so sure.

* * *

They were looking for a plant, when Kate realized she was in love with Jack. She had known that there were feelings for a long time. There had been a kiss, and a lot of looks: sexual tension running rampant. But love was not a word she had ever allowed in before. Sun was having a hard time, then, in her final month of pregnancy, and Kate had volunteered to go with Jack to look for a plant that Sun and Jack agreed might help keep her calm and still and the baby safe inside. They looked all morning, and stopped for lunch in a clearing on the side of the hill, eating overripe mangos.

They were talking about Hawaiian pizza — who really liked pineapple on pizza? — but Jack was distracted, worried about Sun, anxious to find the plant and get back to the beach. Kate said something about how they could understand, now, why people made up strange food combinations. She was licking mango juice off her fingers, and Jack glanced over at her and said, "Yeah," obviously not listening, and then he did a double take, just a small one, a little shake of his head, and looked at her, just looked at her.

It was a ridiculous moment; he managed to be concerned about a patient and a friend, a little baffled by the conversation, and simultaneously looking at her as if she was some kind of sex goddess, while she sat there dirty and sticky with sweat, talking about pizza and making a mess. And that was when she knew she loved him. She loved that he looked at her like that, and she loved that he was so worried about his patient that he wasn't paying attention to their beautiful surroundings, or what they were eating, or what they were talking about, but he had enough of himself left to stop and look at her. And she loved him for no reason at all, just because she did.

The moment passed, and it took her three days to muster up the courage to duck into his tent one night, and whisper his name into the dark, and let herself be taken in by him. That was a good night, though it was not a good morning, after, because Sawyer saw her coming out, and turned angry, and drove all of them far, far away, and she knew that was her fault. But she hadn't meant it like that. It wasn't that she made a choice for forever, it was just that she was sure about Jack, in that moment, and she was never sure about Sawyer. And she couldn't ever take that moment back. But choices worked like that, she'd found. You didn't even know they were made until someone else's life changed, or disappeared, and then it was too late.

* * *

Will had run ahead and spread the news by the time Jack and Kate arrived on the beach, hand in hand. Everyone was gathered, waiting, and a few shouts of, "Mom and Dad got married!" sent the whole crowd into a tizzy. They were surrounded instantly, with hugs and exclamations and why-didn't-you-tell-mes. Emma, who had begged a ride on Jack's shoulders, clung to his head and said, "Oh my goodness!" and almost gouged his eyes out accidentally before someone kindly lifted her down. Everyone said how happy they were, and kissed Kate on the cheek, and shook their heads in amazement. She couldn't see Sawyer in the crowd, or beyond, to the water.

"Cake!" someone cried, and Claire pressed a mango into Kate's hand and said, "Best we can do on short notice." Kate smiled, and was turned by multiple pairs of hands, until she held the fruit up to Jack's mouth and made him take a bite. Juice ran down his chin and she kissed it away, remembering the clearing. She licked her fingers, and watched his eyes light.

"You have to have a first dance! Charlie, go on!" Guitar chords were stuck. The strings were thin now, several had been repaired and the sound was imperfect, but it was music, which was rare enough these days. Kate didn't recognize the chords until Jack had grabbed her around the waste and someone started to sing along: _Love, love, love, love, love, love._

Locke was holding Emma and dancing, which made Kate blink, and Claire touched Charlie's head as it bent over his guitar, and Bernard slipped a hand around Rose's waist. They danced. _Nothing you can do that can't be done, Nothing you can sing that can't be sung._ Charlie's husky voice carried over the hushed crowd. Other voices hummed, sang the words they knew and mumbled the rest. Jack held one hand in his and slipped his other arm around her waist, like an expert. Caught off guard, she swayed with him on the sand.

_Nothing you can save that can't be saved, Nothing you can do but you can learn how to be in time, It's easy._ Charlie provided the horn too, singing _dun duh dun dun duh dun. All you need is love!_ Everyone joined in on cue. _All you need is love. All together now!_ Kate laughed, in amazement, and looked up at her husband, who was smiling.

"Ready for this?" he murmured. Kate's brow creased, and before she knew it he was dipping her down, one arm strong behind her back. She shrieked, and laughed, and he pulled her back to her feet, spinning her around. _All you need is love_, _love, love is all you need._ She put both arms around his neck, anchoring herself against his fancy moves. His hands pressed against her back and he dipped his head. Their foreheads brushed, his eyes too close to see clearly. The little voice in her head whispered, this is a joke, you know that love is not enough, this is a fairy tale and you're about to wake up. She hushed the voice, and danced with her husband.

Everyone else had started dancing too. Hurley twirled Hea around in stately circles. Jin and Sun swayed together. Voices lifted. _Nowhere you can be that isn't where you're meant to be, It's easy._

"Excuse me? _Excuse me?!_"

The music stopped, abruptly. Frozen in mid twirl, all heads turned to the water. The first rescue boat had pulled up on shore, while no one was watching. A man in a shiny white cruise ship crew uniform with gold epaulets was standing on the beach, staring at them as if he wasn't sure if he was insane, or if they were. He had very neatly trimmed brown hair and a white cap. No stubble. Into the silence he said, in English, "We saw the fire. We thought you might need help."

Kate was frozen, numb. She stayed in the circle of Jack's arms and hoped if she didn't move, they could all go back thirty seconds in time, and stay there. Someone — Claire — started to laugh, a strange and overwrought laugh. Kate turned in time to see her sit down on the sand, and Charlie put aside the guitar to ask if she was okay. Her laughter degraded until it might have been sobbing. Sarah hovered nearby, staring at her mother with frightened eyes. Kate felt a pressure against her leg: Matt, letting go of his pride for a moment, clinging. She threaded a hand into his hair.

Jack let go of her. Kate hated him for that. He stepped forward, through the lost, silent crowd and said, "We do. We do need help."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I'm very fuzzy on how many people/motor boats cruise ships have, and also how boats would get on and off a giant cruise ship. So I apologize for any outright lies, or even misleads. They are unintentional.

Thank you very much for all the feedback! Keep it coming!

* * *

They came four to a shiny white motor boat: men and women in cleanly pressed uniforms. Jack conferred with the ship's doctor about whether the children would need to be quarantined, since they weren't vaccinated, didn't have the usual antibodies built up through years of city living. All Kate could think of was Indians and smallpox blankets. Sun gave the captain a tour of the settlement; he had been fetched to shore after the salient details of their situation were conveyed. 

Kate played the good wife, and made sure the children sat still long enough to eat their dinner. She herself did not feel like eating, and simply sat with them staring around her in numb shock, mumbling bad answers to their torrent of questions. Crew members were helping gather people's belongings, and making lists of names and contacts. Who could remember phone numbers, after all this time? They resorted to the names of companies, to cities, neighborhoods, anything that might narrow down the search. That probably existed somewhere, Kate thought. After the crash they would have assembled a list, they would have had to notify the families. The list would be out of date; but no one on the island would be able to do it much better. Kate wondered if she should tell them her father was in the army, if that would help them find him. She wondered if he wanted to be found, if she wanted him to come meet her. By the time they got off the boat, she might not be allowed visitors. This was assuming he was even alive. Ten years was a long time; though he was in good shape, he'd always kept himself fit. Raising children had brought her closer to her own parents, in a way; it made her re-evaluate their actions, their words, her own childhood. But it was a strange closeness, the way one thought of the dead. She had honestly never expected to see her father again.

They brought things in the boats: food, blankets. It made Kate laugh, their notion of rescue. If they needed blankets, would they have survived this long without them? What difference would one night make? They'd decided to keep the survivors on the island until the next day, when there would be enough time and light to properly break down the settlement, and find room for them all on the ship. There was talk of converting a ballroom into sleeping quarters, or asking the families on board to double up in cabins. It was only temporary, the first mate assured them. Oceanic had already been contacted, and was making arrangements for more comfortable transportation home. No planes, he promised, by ship only.

After the children had eaten she let them join the other kids as a few crew members entertained them with what looked to be modern Gameboys and digital video players that miraculously emerged from their pockets. She tried to pack. What to take with them? Will's other pair of shorts, patched together from a pair of Jack's pants that had finally had more holes than fabric? The dresses Emma never wore — they had given up on wrestling any of the kids into clothes until it became absolutely necessary, around three or four — hand-me-downs from Hea, made from Shannon's tank-tops? Jack's makeshift doctor's kit? _Watership Down_, which she had bartered from Sawyer so Will would have something somewhat age-appropriate to read? The rag doll Matt used to carry around when he was 18 months old, tucked firmly against his little chest? She pictured these things in a house, in the kind of house Jack would have, with hardwood floors and large windows and shiny countertops. In the real world, everything they had was just junk.

"Hey." Sawyer was ducking into their shack. "You're needed." Emma was clinging to him, sniffling into his shirt. Sawyer held her at his side without looking, as if he could pretend he wasn't doing a good deed.

"What happened?" Kate asked, standing up and reaching for her daughter.

Emma resisted for a moment, burrowing into Sawyer. He made a disgusted noise and said, "It's your _mom_," and she noticed that, yes, it was, and gave up, flinging herself at Kate instead. Sawyer shrugged, adjusting his shirt. "They showed her some thing on those little video players that scared her."

"Thanks for bringing her," Kate said. Emma's face was wet with tears and snot, which she wiped against Kate's chin. Kate stroked her hair and bounced her a little. Over Emma's head, she met Sawyer's eyes. He shrugged again, and then reached into his pocket abruptly.

"I don't need this," he said, handing her a slim blue rectangle. A passport. She flipped it open with the hand that wasn't holding Emma. Someone else's passport: a woman, brown hair, in her 30s.

Kate knew she wouldn't use it. She'd already given them her married name, and… and she'd promised Jack. But it was a gift, so she just nodded and slipped it into her back pocket. "Thanks," she said again.

He made another noise, in the back of his throat, and shook his head. "See ya 'round, Freckles," he said, and ducked out of the tent. Kate closed her eyes for a second, adjusted Emma's weight so she could hold her with both hands.

* * *

Jack came to bed late, after all the fires had died down and people had settled into their beds for the last time. He had helped put the kids to bed, and then gone back to business. As always, people expected him to take care of things, and by this time he had grown into the leader role so completely that he never questioned that assumption. So Kate lay in bed alone, eyes open. When the kids were old enough, they'd built a separate shelter for them, right beside theirs: the walls were thin and she could still hear them breathing if she held her own breath and listened, but it afforded some illusion of privacy. 

When he came, Jack tried to move silently, as if she would be sleeping. She let him think so, long enough to settle down beside her, hesitate about whether to touch her or not. After a long, breathless moment, he slid his arm around her, spooning his body behind hers, and she turned her head.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"I wasn't sleeping."

She nestled back into the cradle of his body, their thighs touching, and their pelvises, her shoulders against his chest. She felt his nose along the skin of her neck, in her hair. "I'm sorry I disappeared," he said. His breath ghosted over the tiny hairs along her neck. "There's a lot of details to work out."

She understood this, and wasn't sure if she forgave him or not. "I know."

His arm tightened around her. "We're married."

"Yes, we are." She found his hand with hers, slid her fingers over his knuckles. Amazing how being held like this could be a promise of absolute safety, and at the same time, completely terrifying.

He kissed her shoulder. She closed her eyes and heard the strains of Charlie's battered guitar. _All you need is love_.

"What's going to happen?" she asked.

"They're putting us in the ballroom, there's just not enough cabins. But it should only be for a few days. Oceanic has already chartered a ship to come meet us, and take us all the way back to L.A. Everyone agreed that we shouldn't get on a plane… I guess some people might have to, later, to get back to their homes, but that'll be worked out once we're in the U.S."

"So are we going to be confined to the ballroom?"

"We've agreed that's best, for now. The ship coming to meet us will have vaccines for the kids, better medical supplies."

"And less people for us to tell our story of woe to before the Oceanic lawyers get to us."

"There is that. Apparently there's already been some leaks from the boat — they have satellite internet, and some crew members contacted the press. Oceanic isn't releasing our names until they've contacted family members though."

"Which means that some poor mother somewhere has been given new hope — which will soon be dashed." Kate tried to imagine what it would be like to lose a child, and not know, but the thought was too overwhelmingly painful to dwell on.

"Unfortunately, yes. At least soon everyone will know… will know what really happened."

"We were all presumed dead, right?"

"Legally, yes. The captain said the search went on for about a year."

They lapsed into silence. Kate asked finally, "Nothing about me?"

"Not yet."

"It'll come." She turned suddenly, onto her back. He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow to look at her.

"We'll figure that out when it happens," Jack said, with far more confidence than she could muster. "Together."

"Right." She looked at him, for the first time, the shadowed planes of his face. No point in talking about this, or thinking about it. The world would fall in, but it hadn't yet, and this was their last night of freedom. Her hand crept up his shoulder. "It's our wedding night."

"And this is our last privacy for at least a few days," Jack pointed out in a hushed voice.

"And our last night in this godawful excuse for a bed," Kate laughed.

He smiled, the faintest flash of white teeth in the dark. "What are you suggesting Mrs. Shephard?"

She let out a startled, slightly horrified giggle at being called "Mrs. Shephard." Oh god, that was her name now. She was Mrs. Dr. Shephard. Jack covered her mouth, whispering, "Shh."

"Don't you know a better way to shut your wife up?" Kate asked, removing his hand from her lips. Luckily, he had a few good ideas.

* * *

She woke up thinking about coffee. After a while, you forgot tastes, smells, but you remembered the feeling of cupping a steaming mug in your hands and breathing in the day. At least, Kate did. Coffee, she would be happy to have again. And moisturizing body wash. A car stereo. Marshmallows. Ice. 

Jack was already up, organizing people onto boats. Kate tied her hair back and got the kids breakfast. The first group was loading up, each holding a small bundle of wrapped items, like refugees in movies. Kate left the kids on the beach with Rose and went rambling, for the last time. They hadn't found her out yet, which meant she could still stay on the island, with Jack and her children. But no coffee. No friends, or communal dinners, or packs of children to play with.

The paths were too familiar now, it was hard to see them well enough to say goodbye. In her mind, the whole world was this brightly colored. Even when she thought about Iowa, it was in vibrant greens and blues and reds, colors that did not exist there in reality. She climbed a tree, high enough to see the ship, and the wake of a motor boat, traveling towards it. She straddled a thick branch and pressed her hands against the bark until it made marks. She ate a redfruit, down to the pit.

Sun was in her garden, weeping. "I am happy to go home," she insisted, when Kate found her there, "To see my family, to begin a new life. I do not know why I…" She tenderly smoothed the earth around the roots of one of her new plants. She had expanded the garden every year; by now it was about a hundred square feet, and provided a large percentage of their food, as well as medicines, flowers, all the things that made a place inhabitable.

Kate crouched beside her, and picked up a fistful of soil. "I know," she said. Sun took her hand, the dirt pressed between their fingers.

"Will you be alright, Kate?" Sun asked. "Have you heard anything, about… the police?"

Kate was startled. She thought everyone had forgotten, except Jack and Sawyer. People tended to overlook the things they didn't want to remember. "No. I… I don't know. I think – I think it's going to be bad. But I promised Jack I would face it."

"We will be there, if you need us," Sun promised, squeezing her hand. Kate smiled, gratefully, wondering what she had done to deserve real friends, and simultaneously, if what she said was true.

"It's time to get back," Kate said, and Sun nodded, releasing her. She wiped her cheeks and kissed the leaves of her plant, and stood up. Kate stood with her, and they nodded at each other, and walked back to the beach, slowly.

About twenty people were left. Rose and Bernard were arguing, quietly. "It's time, Bernard," Rose kept saying, "I'm ready."

Claire was sitting next to the cradle, rocking it slowly. Since Locke built it for Aaron, that cradle had held twelve babies. Three Claire's, three Kate's. "Charlie says there's not enough room," Claire said when Kate approached. "And what would we do with it? Now that we're going back to the land of birth control, I am _never_ doing that again. But I just can't… I can't just _leave_ it." Kate ran a hand along a bamboo slat. Her babies had slept with her most nights, but she had used the cradle when they were fussy, or she needed some space. She could see them all so clearly as infants; it wasn't that long ago, for Emma. Their little bodies curled up, their tiny hands reaching for tiny feet.

"You should take it," she said. "I'll talk to Jack about moving it." Heirloom didn't seem the right word, but she knew it shouldn't be lost, or left behind.

"Thanks, Kate," Claire said, with a small, sad smile. Kate squeezed her shoulder, moved on to someone else's problem.

Everything moved so quickly. They came, they saw, they took away. Ten years on the island had changed Kate's rhythm. She thought they should spend some time saying goodbye, planning how to do this; but the real world didn't work quite like that. The real world assumed that this was a rescue operation, pure and simple, and they would all run back to civilization as fast as possible. Maybe this was true, for most people.

Kate was a little surprised to find Locke preparing to leave. She didn't know why, but she'd pictured him on the island after they were all gone, holding trust with it somehow. "Turns out I'm not as much of a loner as I'd like to pretend," he said good-naturedly to her questioning look. "Anyway, if the island wanted us to stay, it would have let us know. It's time now."

It's time, it's time.

They took the last boat: Kate, Jack and their children, along with two crew members. Emma sat in Kate's lap and asked, "When are we going to come back?" Privately, Kate did not believe they ever would, any of them. Jack would scoff, but she thought the island would be hard to find a second time.

Will was boisterous, standing at the wheel with the first mate, who had overseen the evacuation, and asking questions about motors, and movement, and he kept throwing his arms open to the air as if he would begin to fly. Matt was quieter, he found a perch by the front and stared at the island as it grew smaller. Emma waved goodbye, and then turned to Kate and said, "I feel funny. Why does this thing go so fast?" Jack was silent, staring at what they had made and left behind: the church and the ramshackle huts and the large kitchen, the structures all losing coherence as they moved away. In the background, cliffs and mountains rose, green and untouched. It was amazing the ship had spotted them in the first place. From far enough away, it was as if they had never been.

Kate didn't think. She could feel her body hardening to a razor edge, ready for anything. The feeling was at odds with the small bundle of warmth in her lap, and with her husband beside her, who was tired and determined, and her sons, ready for the world. She was in a controlled panic. She would not think about what she was leaving behind, or what she was going to. She would not hurt anyone this time.

Everyone on board the ship seemed to be gathered at the edge of the deck to cheer them in. She could see a section cordoned off, where their people stood and waved. Some of them were wearing new clothes. Some were holding drinks. Dreamlike, Kate waved back, before their boat disappeared into the landing dock. A ramp came out to meet them, thick steel descending to the water, and crew members hauled the boat inside. Kate tightened her hold on Emma as they left the water, and metal clanked on metal. Will had to grab on to the first mate to stay upright.

It was dark and cool inside the landing bay. Kate blinked a few times, her eyes adjusting slowly. The captain was waiting to greet them, surrounded by other crew members, some of whom she had seen before, some she had not. The last boat before them was still being unloaded: Sayid, Rose and Bernard, and Locke stood nearby. The captain, who was in his early forties, handsome, clean cut, was watching Kate. She knew the look.

"Welcome," he said, stepping forward. His eyes flickered to Jack, but then returned to her.

Jack smiled, helped the boys off the boat. "Thanks. We're officially evacuated."

"Not in small part thanks to you." The captain held his hand out and Jack took it, man to man. Kate felt ill. She stood up slowly, and ignored the first mate's helping hand, climbing nimbly over the side of the boat and jumping to the ground. She looked up and met the captain's eyes.

"Kate Austen?" he asked.

"Shephard," she corrected. Jack tensed, noting the exchange. She didn't look at him, that would be too much. She kept her eyes trained on the captain.

"Sorry, Mrs. Shephard," he said. "I apologize for the inconvenience, but we're going to have to ask you to come with us."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Short-ish chapter. I tried to find a way to transition so that the story doesn't drag on and on; sorry if I left out anything you really, really wanted to see in the intervening time (if it was really important, let me know, maybe I'll stick it in a later chapter as a flashback). Just in case anyone didn't realize, I started this during very early season 3so things do not exactly match up episodes past 3.2 (and in fact, even the happenings of 3.1 and 3.2 are pretty much ignored).

* * *

_Four months later_

"Your coffee, Mrs. Shephard." The name was a special form of mockery. Kate accepted the chipped plastic cup from the prison guard and said, "Thank you." Jane arched her eyebrows in reply. Kate's name was still Austen, here, but the guards seemed to take a special pleasure in reminding her of the husband she didn't really have.

Well, there was still coffee. The jailhouse coffee was bitter, and never hot, but it got her through the morning. Kate moved along, picking up a bowl for cereal and getting in the line for cornflakes.

"Skip the milk." Carla confided, leaning in as she walked by. "It's been sitting out a little too long."

Great, dry cereal. Kate lifted her coffee cup to her face and inhaled, trying to drown out everything else. She took a sip, and almost spit it out as the liquid scalded her tongue and the roof of her mouth. Ow. Gabby, in front of her, turned around to see why she was making that noise, and laughed at her. Kate closed her eyes, pressing her burnt tongue against her teeth. Ow.

She had been in the Adams County Jail for almost three months now, awaiting trial. It was strange how quickly one adjusted to a new life. Already, the world had lost all its color. Already, these people were familiar to her, and her friends were strangers. Sometimes the guards would show her magazines with their pictures — exclusive interviews where they revealed how they made it through the ordeal, sob stories about their families left at home, and how they never gave up hope, coverage of the happy reunions. She was waiting for Sawyer's TV show, but she figured it wouldn't be until the next fall anyway. It was winter in Iowa. She never went outside, but through the barred windows she could see the snow, and when she had visitors they were red-cheeked and taking off their mittens.

Her hand was shaking, holding the coffee cup. Kate focused, stilling herself, and sat down without her cereal. She was okay. She could deal with this. The trial started the next Monday, and Jack was coming to talk things over one last time, and she was fine. She didn't need to go outside. The air in here was air, still, and she had no trouble breathing. She wasn't trapped, she was just waiting.

"Hurry up!" Jane yelled. Kate stared at her coffee and didn't move. It had taken her two months of perfect behavior just to get out of her cell for meals. Kate was the most dangerous inmate in a jail mostly populated with drunks and hookers.

In a sudden burst of energy, she drained her coffee and grabbed an overripe banana. Had to keep her strength up, Jack might bring the kids, after all. She hadn't seen them in days; their absence was a physical ache she could not bear. But he didn't always bring them, if there were grown-up things to discuss.

"Time's up, Austen. Back to your room," Irene ordered, pausing beside her. Kate nodded obediently and stood up, dumping her cup in a tub. Funny how when the Others captured her, she vowed to obey only when they made her, every order was enforced by the threat of violence, and here she just did what they said. The violence existed, they guards all carried clubs, and there were armed guards and electric fences and all sorts of safeguards – but it was different. _They_ were in the right here, and she was in the wrong. This was civilization.

* * *

Two federal marshals picked her up in a helicopter about the time Jack and her children were transferred onto their own private cruise ship. Until then she was kept in the ship brig, built for drunks to sleep it off. The captain apologized for the inconvenience; he didn't know what they wanted her for, he was just following orders from above.

She arrived in Iowa for her arraignment when Jack was still in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. That was when she knew she'd made the biggest mistake of her life.

They offered her a phone call, but she had no numbers to call.

She met her lawyer in the courtroom at her arraignment. The judge denied bail, given her history, and the stolen passport they found in the pocket of her jeans when they arrested her. She stared at the small blue rectangle, in an evidence bag held up by the prosecutor. She could be with Sawyer, in Fiji, with sun on her face and bare shoulders. After the judge banged his gavel, they took her back to her cell, two guards, and handcuffs.

They were charging her with murder in the first degree, which held a mandatory life sentence. Also, armed robbery, resisting arrest, escaping from government custody, and document fraud. They were considering adding charges, such as another count of murder (Edward Mars) but they were waiting until they could investigate further. These words meant nothing to her, except that she was going to be inside the same cell forever.

In the beginning, they kept her in that cell 23 hours a day. For one hour, she was allowed to walk up and down the hall (since it was too cold for her to go outside), with her handcuffs on. No one would tell her where her husband or children were. She was not, according to official records, even married.

They put her on suicide watch, and not without reason. All day and night, her arms ached for Emma. She closed her eyes and saw Jack looking steadily at her, as he promised to be at her side. She had dreams of Matt, standing inside her prison cell, and woke up sobbing that she would protect him, and the worst part was that he wasn't there.

She decided she would never love anyone again, because loving meant being trapped. If she didn't love Jack, and her babies, she would not be in a cell, alone. In the future, she would be cold and detached. Since the rest of her life would be spent in jail, she reasoned that this should not be difficult.

She gave up, she shut down. And then Jack came.

He had come as fast as he could, he said. He said a lot of things. They had taken them to L.A., and there was business to work out, his mother had to be seen and reassured. It had been difficult to get answers as to where she was, what was going on. He had spoken to her father. They had driven the whole way; he, and Sun and Jin, and all the kids. They were renting a house. He was there for her. They were all there to help.

This was harder, in some ways, than being alone. Jack still had hope, which was a foreign concept.

At first they wouldn't let the kids in. They didn't have any facilities "secure enough." It amazed Kate what these people thought of her. She tried to imagine what interaction she could have with her children that would require bulletproof glass between them. Did they think she would try to take them hostage? Have them smuggle her a knife? Could they possibly imagine her doing anything besides holding them?

Hurley's lawyer turned the tide. He showed up one day in a slick suit, announcing that he was taking her case, and things were going to change. Things did change; they let her out of her cell three hours a day instead of one. No handcuffs. He said he was all paid for, and he was going to get her off scot free; the latter she did not believe. But, more important, she was allowed to see visitors.

Her children were strangers. Will and Matt wore jeans, real jeans that fit them, without any holes. Will has a Columbia sweatshirt, and Matt was wearing a blue striped sweater. Will had a buzz cut, and Matt's hair was cropped short. They both wore shoes; she had never seen them wear shoes before. Emma was wearing a pink dress and patent leather mary janes. She had a bow in her hair. Kate didn't even know her ragged, dirty island babies in these solemn, neat American children. She tried not to, but she started to cry when they walked in the door. The room was bare, just a table and a couple folding chairs, and she didn't want them to see her here, like this, and she didn't want to know that they were growing up without her. But god, she wanted to touch them, hold them, never let them go.

"Mommy?" Emma whispered, but it turned into a shout, and her baby was back as her small body hurtled across the room and into Kate's lap. Kate was afraid she was hurting her, holding her so tight, but she couldn't seem to let go. She could feel every breath and tremor of the small body nestled against her chest, each precious moment. Will hung back, near her father, and Matt hesitated, looking at his big brother, and then at his mother. Kate held out a hand, still holding Emma tightly to her with the other, and Matt came, big-eyed and trusting and real, really there. She wondered what Jack had told them, about her, but didn't feel up to asking.

* * *

Jack came alone that day. Kate locked up that sadness, and tried to focus. The trial was coming up; they'd gone over their stories, all the testimony, all the cross-examination, but there was always more to do. She wanted it to be over, for better or worse, just to have some certainty about her future.

"How are you?" he asked, touching her face. She shrugged, sat down in one of the chairs with her legs drawn up on the edge.

"Looks like you got more snow," she commented.

"Yeah, another foot or so. I think even the kids have gotten tired of it."

She missed their first experience of snow. Their first car ride. Their first movie. Their first ice cream cone. She wondered if Jack had saved her anything, or if it was worth saving anything, since she would be in jail for the rest of her life.

"You should take them sledding," she suggested.

"No hills." he pointed out.

"We used to tie sleds to cars," Kate said, but the look on Jack's face put a quick stop to that line of thought. This was why she was the bad parent, and he was the good parent. Also, because she was in jail.

"Kate," Jack said, his serious tone of voice. She looked at him, worried. He sat down opposite her and put his hand over hers on the table. "I want to talk to you about the kids."

"What about them? Is everything okay?" She sat up, sliding her feet to the floor.

"They're fine," Jack assured her quickly.

"What is it?"

Jack hesitated, and Kate withdrew her hand, preparing to defend herself against whatever he was about to say. "I'm taking them to L.A.," he said finally.

"To visit your mother?" Kate said, trying to sound sure.

"To live with my mother," Jack replied.

No, no. "What are you talking about, Jack?"

"Kate, I know this is going to be hard for you to – Look, the kids need some stability right now. They are totally lost, freaked out – they need a schedule, they need distractions, they need some sense of normalcy. With your trial starting, I'm going to be at court all day. Sun and Jin need to go back to Korea, her father isn't doing well. I've found a private school in L.A., a good school, that's willing to take them at their grade level – Emma can enter their preschool program, and they said they'll set up private tutoring to get Matt and Will up to speed. They need to start school at some point, to start getting adjusted to what life here is going to be like. The sooner the better."

No. "When were you planning on telling me all of this?" Kate asked sharply.

"I'm telling you now."

"You can't – I – Jack, you cannot do this. You can't just _take them_. They don't even know your mother! How is that going to make them more comfortable? They have lost everything they know, and you just want to shove them off with a stranger—"

"She's my mother, Kate. And I will be there, too, every weekend."

"Oh, that's perfect. That'll be okay then."

"Kate, you do not see them every day, you don't know what they're going through—"

"How can you say that to me?" Kate yelled. She was out of her seat, even though she didn't remember standing up. She finally understood why there was nothing in this room – nothing to throw. "No, I don't see them. I never see them. And now you want to take them across the country?! So they can completely forget about me?"

"That is not the point and you know it! I am trying to do what's best for _them_. Not for you or me. For _them_."

"Right, because I'm the selfish one, that thinks children need their parents. I'm the horrible mother. They'll be better off without me!"

"See, you're making it all about you. This is not about you, Kate."

She laughed, bitterly. "Of course it is. I'm the one who put us all here, right? I'm the one that fucked up, and now you're trying to clean up my mess. It's always about that."

"Yes, you're right. You fucked up. And now our children are paying for it. I just want to give them a chance to have something normal, to spend a little time with other children, not cooped up in a house in the middle of nowhere, worrying about what is going to happen—"

"No, you want to turn them into you. You want them to go to a perfect school, and become perfect little citizens, so you can all go on with your lives. You want them to _forget_ me—"

"That is bullshit—"

"Hey!" The door slammed open and an armed guard stepped inside. "Shut up. Opposite sides of the room, _now_."

Kate bit her tongue, and tried to pretend that was why there were tears in her eyes. Jack stepped back, hands up, and Kate turned away. She could hear the jingle of handcuffs. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Laurie, the guard, asked, as she snapped the handcuffs on her wrists. "We have to report this kind of thing, you know. Outbursts of temper." Kate didn't care. Fuck the trial. What did it matter? Jack was taking her children away. He had promised to be with her, to stand at her side and face it all together, but he was stabbing her in the back. First the kids, and then he would go too, he would slip away and she would be left alone, totally alone, in this prison that she made for herself, but that he pushed her into.

"Kate," Jack said wearily as Laurie pushed her toward the door. She turned her head away, and refused to look at him. She didn't want him to see her crying. She thought of Emma, and her patent leather shoes, and her first day of school. She was going to miss the first day of school.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: First of all, thank you so much for all the wonderful feedback! It is definitely a motivator to keep going (so keep it coming).

Now, I was going to do the trial all in one chapter, but it was getting really long, so instead I'm splitting it up. So here you have, The Trial: Part I. As I am not a lawyer, and in fact know nothing more about the criminal justice system than what I've seen on the Practice (and that it's seriously screwed up), most of The Trial is not going to be the actual trial. Real trials are boring. Also, it may be that Kate would have multiple trials for all her different crimes; for the sake of the story, I am just combining them into one super trial. And I have no idea how long it would take, so I'm just making that up. With that incredibly long disclaimer…

* * *

Mr. DeWitt, Kate's lawyer, brought her new clothes for the trial. They didn't want the jury to get the impression she was a criminal. Her dress for opening arguments was dark blue, calf-length. He brought her beige heels to go with it - not too high, they didn't want her to look too sexy. The skirt flared softly around her legs. He brought her make-up too, and arranged for her to have fifteen minutes with a real mirror, while a male guard stood over her shoulder watching to make sure she didn't try to break it, and two more stood by the door. It was the first real mirror she'd seen in years. On the island, there were a couple compacts floating around, but Kate had never sought one out. Sitting in a waiting room in the county courthouse, Kate had quite a shock. She was old. Going on thirty-seven, and every year showed. A winter inside had destroyed her tan, but the other effects of sun remained: lines around her eyes, a weathered look to her skin. She wasn't the girl she had been, not even on the outside, where it mattered. The make-up was like foreign technology, she fumbled and gave up on eyeliner, settled for a light coat of lipstick, some blush, undereye concealer to make it look as if she had slept the night before.

When they took the mirror away they left her alone with Mr. DeWitt. He was from New York, and made everyone in Iowa nervous - mostly because he seemed to have an uncanny ability to make them do whatever he wanted, even if it was the opposite of their own desires, not to mention their job descriptions. Jack said that Hurley was a millionaire, which Kate didn't quite believe; but someone had hired one of the best defense attorneys in the country, so maybe it was true. What had they really known about anyone on the island, in the end?

There was a knock, and Jack came in. He was wearing a dark suit, very neat, very cleanshaven. Kate looked the other way. Jack and DeWitt conversed in low tones, and then Jack came and sat across the table from her. She studied her nails.

"You look nice," he said. Kate didn't look up. "I brought you something - it's from the kids actually."

Her head jerked up at that. He slid a rectangle across the table - a mobile video device. She met his eyes for a second, and he nodded, and then she picked it up and turned it on.

The kids appeared, on the front step of a large adobe house. Emma was wearing a T-shirt that said, "I Heart My Mommy." "Hi!" they shouted in unison, waving excitedly at the camera. None of them were wearing shoes.

"We're at Grandma Shephard's house," Will said, shushing the other two. "It's in Los Angeles, which is where Dad grew up. Right, Dad?"

"Right," Jack's voice came from off-camera.

"We wanted to make you a video, to show you that we're okay, and that we're sorry we're not there."

"But Dad says when your trial is done you can come here!" Matt shouted, jumping up and down. Emma caught on and started jumping too. "Mommy's coming! Mommy's coming!"

"No, Dad says we can go wherever you want," Will corrected. There was a pause and then all three shouted at the same time, "But not Iowa!" "Please Mommy, anywhere but I-O-UUUH." "Don't make us go back there!" "Please! Anywhere else!"

Kate smiled, despite herself. And then she choked. She put a hand over her mouth, glad she had not put on eyeliner or mascara.

Will gained control again. "It's too cold there," he said, with an air of finality. "It's better here. We went to the beach yesterday!"

"Yeah, it was just like home," Matt put in. Will elbowed him. "I mean, the island."

"And Grandma Shephard says we swim really good! 'Specially me," Emma said proudly.

"She did not say 'specially you," Will sneered.

"Yeah, she did! She said for my age, I'm _really_ good. She just said you were _good_."

"Hey, a little focus please?" Jack's voice intervened.

"Oh, sorry!" They all turned back to the camera. "So, we just wanted to say that we're okay here. It's a really big house, and Grandma Shephard is really nice, and we're eating vegetables, and we miss you, and-"

"Ask her!"

"-Oh, and Emma wants to know if when we get our own house, we can get a pool, and a treehouse. But I think we should _build_ a treehouse, that would be even better," Will concluded.

"I think we should build it too," Matt agreed hurriedly.

Emma stuck out her tongue at her brothers.

"Alright, maybe you guys should give Mom a tour of the house," Jack suggested. All else forgotten, the children walked her through Jack's mother's house, showing off every sink ("And the water just comes out! Hot or cold!"), the television, the spiral staircase, the light switches, the dining room chairs, all the appliances, one at a time (Jack had to intervene to stop Emma from climbing inside the dryer), and finally, their bedrooms. The boys were sleeping in Jack's old room, it looked like; there was still a Nirvana poster on the wall, and medical textbooks stacked up in a corner. Amazing that his mother had kept it all those years; but then, she'd lost her husband and son at the same time, that must have been hard. Unbearable, Kate amended, glancing up at Jack. He was watching her intently, seriously.

"We have to wrap this up, guys," Jack said on the video.

There was a chorus of protests, but Jack told them to say goodbye, just for this time. "Bye Mom!" Will said. Matt looked straight out of the screen at her and said, "I love you, Mom. I miss you." Emma blew kisses at her. "I can't _wait_ until you come back! I love you _so much_." Kate stifled a noise, and rubbed under her eyes. Jack handed her a tissue, from somewhere. The video froze, on all of them waving, and Emma's arms throwing the kisses toward her, and they were _not there_. Kate had to close her eyes, and put the video player down, very carefully on the table.

"Did you put them up to that?" she asked, hoping her voice sounded somewhat normal.

"No, actually, Matt suggested it. My mom is — out of her mind excited to have them there, and she bought one of these things so that she can film everything they do. I even caught her filming them asleep one night—" Jack sounded incredulous, but Kate thought, _yes, I would do that_. "Anyway, she finally showed them what it did, how it you could play it all back. And about fifteen minutes later Matt came up to me and asked if they could make a video for you."

It hurt her chest, to think of her sweet and shy little boy, who had said the least of all of them when the camera was on, but had made it all happen.

"This is a recording device too," Jack went on. "They were hoping you would record something for me to take back. There's a special request for you to sing 'Hush, Little Baby,' actually. Emma's been having some trouble getting to sleep."

Oh god. Kate looked around, at DeWitt. He was studiously ignoring them, going over his notes. Jack was watching her, hopefully. He had done this, he had taken them to the other side of the county. But then she heard them again, yelling "Not Iowa!" And he was here, still, at least for now.

"How do I use it?" Kate asked.

Jack fidgeted with it for a minute, pulling out a little disk and inserting another. "So it won't erase the other one," he explained. He held it up, the now-dark screen pointing at her, and nodded. "Okay, go ahead."

Kate paused, staring at the rectangle. That was not her children. She couldn't talk – sing – to that. But Jack was looking at her with such faith. And Emma was having trouble sleeping. She forced a smile. "Hi," she said. "Thanks for the tour, it was really great. It looks like a beautiful house. I'm okay. My trial's starting today. Which means that soon, we'll… soon we'll know more about what's going to happen. But for now you guys just behave for your grandmother. And don't waste too much water with all that turning on and off of the sinks! You know, Los Angeles is really a desert. I… I love you, all, very much." She had to stop, so she didn't cry again, and smile, smile. "And I miss you."

Sucking in a breath she said, "Okay, I guess I'll sing. You all know I'm not very good at this, so I don't know why you want me to, but if it's a special request…" She looked past the screen, at Jack. His eyes were enormous and dark, and she hated him for doing this to her, for making her a mother, for making her love someone else so much. She opened her mouth and sang, softly, her voice husky with tears and the strangeness of singing a lullaby in a court waiting room, in the middle of the morning. _Hush little baby, don't cry a word, papa's gonna buy you a mockingbird, and if that mockingbird won't sing, papa's gonna buy you a diamond ring._ It was the only lullaby she could remember, when Will was born, and it sort of just stuck, as her song, that she would sing when they were fretful or sad or scared. _You'll still be the sweetest little baby in town._

There was a knock on the door. "I have to go!" Kate said, too quickly. "I love you, very, very much. I'll see you soon. Bye! Bye." Jack hit a button, put the machine down. Kate shuddered, bending her head into her hands. She had always had trouble imagining herself as a mother, even after she became one. She didn't think she was the type. But now there was just this hole in her—

The bailiff opened the door. "We're ready for her," he said. Kate felt Jack's hand on her shoulder, and then clasping her hand to help her up. She turned her head to see him, and he said, "It's going to be okay," as if he really meant it, as if he really knew it. Gently but without hesitation, he slid his hand up to the back of her neck, and she let him. She needed him to. Their fights were all fear and bluster, which didn't make it easier, didn't make it hurt less. But in the end, it didn't mean anything. He did what he thought he had to, and so did she, and here they were.

He bent his head, their foreheads brushing, and she wanted so much to collapse into him, to let the tears come fast and heated and listen to him tell her it would be okay until she actually believed it. But they were waiting for her. She tilted her head up, their noses bumping, and kissed him quickly, a desperate, shallow brush of lips, and then she nodded, body shuddering, and he let her go, and she turned to face the bailiff. It was time.

* * *

DeWitt's opening remarks told a very simple story: Kate was young, when her stepfather died. She panicked, after her mother accused her of murder, and she ran. And the longer and further she ran, the more scared she became, the more convinced that she could never come back. She didn't kill Wayne, but she didn't trust that anyone would believe that, and so she ran, and things got out of control. But she's older now. She spent ten years in a small, tight knit community on an island far from civilization, a place where she could have had free rein to do whatever she liked; and what she had done was help other people, what she had done was start a family – all the things she would have done at home if not for her fear. When they were rescued, she faced her fear, she stopped running, and was sitting there in that court room waiting to be judged. She had run from youth and inexperience and fear, not, as the prosecution would try to make the jury believe, because she was guilty. And that was really all the prosecution had to go on. Wayne died of a gas leak. Kate's mother made an accusation based on an emotional response, and Kate, frightened and alone, ran. Yes, along the way she had made some unfortunate choices. But never out of malice. Never out of an intent to harm. And at the core, she was innocent.

Kate had not told DeWitt to say this. She had not told him one way or another. He had reviewed the prosecution's evidence, and suggested this approach. "They have nothing to go on," he said breezily before the trial. "Their chief witness is dead. Officer Mars, luckily, was not great at writing stuff down, he liked to keep it all in his head, so a lot of the what went on while you were a fugitive is undocumented. Your behavior is the only real strike against you. You acted like a guilty person. But that doesn't mean you were, or are."

The prosecution, led by a man named Trevor Daniels, told a different story. He talked about the insurance policy, he talked about her troubled relationship with Wayne, what kind of a man he was, why she would want to kill him, and he talked about her three years as a fugitive, and how she destroyed anything and anyone in her way, lying and cheating and stealing at every turn. Kate thought his story sounded more plausible.

That first day no one called any witnesses. That started later, a parade of witnesses for the prosecution: a forensic expert who testified that it was likely there was tampering to make the house explode the way it did (DeWitt made him admit that, while unlikely, it was possible that it was just an accident); a woman who used to work with her mother who testified that Wayne was abusive to Kate's mother; a man who had been at the diner the night Wayne died, and saw Kate come in and speak to her mother; a few other people from town, who had seen Wayne hit on Kate, or abuse her mother, or both; a high school friend who Kate hadn't seen in fifteen years, a girl named Jessica Allen, who had gained a lot of weight, who testified that Kate hated Wayne, and used to talk about how she wished he would die. The picture all came together very nicely, just the way Mars had painted it in that car years ago. Kate was waiting for her horse to come walking in the courthouse door, but he never did.

* * *

Her father came to see her the morning he was called to testify. He looked about the same, he was even wearing his uniform. "Hi Katie," he said, looking almost shy.

"Hi Daddy."

Sam nodded at Jack; they had spoken over the phone, because the police would release information to Sam at the beginning, but not to Jack. He was still her legal next of kin. "You must be Jack."

"It's good to meet you, Mr. Austen… sorry, Sergeant." Jack stood up, extending a hand. Sam shook it, man to man. Kate stood up too, smoothing herself out, and waited while Jack introduced DeWitt.

"We've met," DeWitt said briefly. "I deposed Sergeant Austen. Good to see you again, sir."

"You too." Finally, he turned to Kate. She tilted her head a little, unsure what they did at this juncture, and then he held out his arms. She stepped into them, closing her eyes, and breathed in his old, familiar scent. Her definition of home had changed a lot, a lot of times, but part of it was still him, was still being her daddy's little girl.

After a minute she pulled away, and he held her at arm's length, looking at her. "Look at you," he murmured, "All grown up."

She smiled ruefully at that. She could kill someone, and he still saw her as a child; but put on some wrinkle lines and a formal murder charge, and she was suddenly an adult. No, not suddenly. "Want to see your grandkids?" she asked.

He looked startled, even though he knew about the kids. Maybe he thought, because she wasn't his – she looked at Jack, who reached for his wallet and produced some snapshots of the kids in L.A. "They're beautiful," Sam said. "Look a lot like you, at that age. Hard to believe though, Katie."

"Tell me about it."

He offered the photos back to Jack who said, "I have other copies, if you want to keep those."

Sam looked at the pictures in his hand for a moment, and then said, "Thank you." Kate cast a grateful look at Jack, who had been, so far, a rock. Despite everything.

"So what are they going to ask you about?" Kate asked, trying to sound casual.

"They found my service records, showing I was in Korea, when—"

"Oh." Kate nodded, glanced at DeWitt. She'd told DeWitt that part, figuring it might come up. She'd told him most of the truth, so he could construct a better argument. She had never offered, and he had never asked for, the fundamental truth. "Is that going to be a problem?"

"I don't think so. Daniels is going to suggest that finding out Wayne was your biological father pushed you over the edge – he's already set up that Wayne made sexual advances towards you, and he'll suggest maybe he did more than that, which, along with his abuse towards your mother, provides a motive. But as you told me, and will testify, Wayne never actually touched you. The jury won't want to believe that you would knowingly kill your real father without an actual rape involved – that's going to be a selling point for us in the end. I wouldn't worry about it."

The jury wouldn't want to believe that she would have killed her own biological father, because what kind of person would do that? Kate looked up at her father – her stepfather – but he was avoiding her eyes. He knew the truth about her. What had he said to her? He didn't have murder in his heart. And Kate did, or had anyway. She was exactly the person the jury would not want to believe existed.

DeWitt kept talking. He was so confident, it set Kate's teeth on edge. She could see him imbuing Jack with confidence too, and now her father. They all thought it would be okay. But none of them were looking at life in prison. None of them were looking at her; they were all too busy conferring, and planning, and saving her.

* * *

They called a lot of people Kate had met in one guise or another: they called Jason, her sometime-lover-cum-duped-bank-robber. DeWitt took him apart during cross examination (Jason was currently in jail for assault with a deadly weapon, and hoping to get a few years knocked off for his cooperation; also, he admitted that Kate had intervened when he was going to shoot someone, which didn't make him come across as the wronged party). Jack glowered a lot that day, and they didn't speak the next morning, sitting silently in the waiting room while Kate counted off her misdeeds, all the reasons he could pick to hate her. Kevin was on the witness list, but the prosecution decided against putting him on the stand; according to DeWitt, he spent the entire deposition insisting that the only thing she'd done to him was break his heart. Kate cried in her cell at night over that one. And wondered, in the incomplete silence of the jail, if she would do better, given a second chance. She left Kevin voluntarily, after all. She could have tried harder, stayed longer. She left because she was going crazy there, because she couldn't be that person, live that life. If she made it out of this, somehow, and let Jack buy her a house with a pool and a tree big enough to hold a treehouse, would she do better this time?

On the weekends Jack went back to L.A. It took a month for it to sink into Kate's head that he was flying twice a week. On her helicopter ride back to civilization, they had had to drug her, because she had a panic attack just being in the air; ten years later, she could still hear the sound the back of the plane made when it broke off, and every tremor made her scream and shake. But Jack boarded an airplane every Friday and Sunday, so he could be with her, and also do what he thought was best for the kids. That was Jack, right there. Always doing the right thing. Always giving of himself. He was too good for her, like Tom, and Kevin. The only difference was, she had never had a chance to run away from him, or she had never been able to.

When he came in that Monday, Kate asked DeWitt to give them a minute. Jack looked at her, concerned, asked if she was okay.

"I just want to give you something," she said. "They were holding it at the jail, but I got DeWitt to have them release it to him, after they checked it of course. I just…" She picked up the little model airplane from the table, and held it out to him. She'd held it so many times in the last ten years all the color had rubbed off. "It hasn't exactly been a good luck charm in the past," she said, looking down, "But I want you to have it, anyway. For when you fly."

"Kate…"

"Take it."

He did, gently, and she had to close her eyes because she was going to cry, seeing him standing there holding Tom's airplane. She was not strong enough for this, she was not good enough for this. "Thank you," he said quietly.

She opened her eyes and ran a hand over her forehead, into her hair. He reached up and took the hand, and then the arm, and then her whole body, drawing her into him. He smelled different now, cleaner, less sweat, and a faint hint of aftershave. But still, fundamentally, Jack. "I'm sorry," he said, "I'm doing the best I can."

"I know. I'm sorry too. I just… miss them so much." She tucked her head against his chest, and thought of how they held Will between them, his infant body curled in both their arms at once.

"I know. And whatever happens here, it'll be different after the trial. No matter what, you will not lose them, I promise."

Promises, promises. "I have trust issues," she whispered. She knew that he smiled, even though she couldn't see it.

"I promise," he repeated. He drew away enough to tilt her head up, and make her meet his eyes. He was so earnest, transparent. She drew his face down; it had been so long since they had really kissed, since anything but pain and fear and anger and basic support had passed between them. They melted into one another, familiar movements that never grew old, never failed to send her heart racing.

Whatever happens here. There was a knock on the door. "Sorry to interrupt," DeWitt said, peeking in, "but we have a trial going here?" They parted, reluctantly. The prosecution was wrapping up their case, and then it would be her turn, to justify her actions. Jack squeezed her hand with his right; in his left, he lifted the airplane, up up up into the sky.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: And it just keeps getting longer and longer... I like to call this chapter "When Kate Takes the Stand" (cue Chicago music).

* * *

The night before Kate took the stand, she told Wayne she was sorry. She sat on her cot, head bent, and made all her apologies, one by one. Jack. Her children. Sawyer. Edward Mars. Kevin. Tom. Her mother. And finally, Wayne. "I hate you," she whispered into the shadowed dark of her cell, "But I shouldn't have killed you."

He didn't answer. None of them did.

* * *

DeWitt softened the jury up with character testimony. Jack took the stand, and told the story of the marshal's death. "Kate offered to tell me what she was wanted for, right away," he testified. "She didn't try to hide anything, she just wanted a chance to start over. I was suspicious, for a long time, but in that kind of situation, you see a person's true colors. You can't hide on an island with forty people, where we're all depending on each other, every day, for survival. Under that kind of stress, Kate proved that she was no more a murderer than I am. In these unbelievable circumstances, she was kind, always looking out for other people; she was calm, when everyone else was out of their minds with fear or anger; she was, right from the beginning, one of those people everyone looked to, and she never let them down."

Kate wondered if he really believed all of this. She was not a saint, and Jack had always been quick to see her faults as well as her strengths. Was he just speaking as the man who loved her, and wanted her to come home, or did they all see her this way? She had tried, she had tried to do better, to be better, but she often felt that she failed.

"That's lovely, but does it really mean she didn't kill her stepfather? After all, as we've heard, he was not exactly worthy of her consideration," DeWitt pointed out, undercutting the prosecution.

Jack looked over at Kate, who stared steadily back, trying to believe that she was all the things he said. "That wouldn't matter. Kate never distinguished between people who were worthy and people who weren't." She broke their gaze, looked down at the table, thinking of Sawyer. She had not heard from him, and she didn't want to ask Jack. He turned back to DeWitt and finished, "I know Kate better than anyone. Whatever happened before – and after all this time, I truly believe that I would know if she had been lying to me – she's a changed woman. When we saw the ship, she knew that she would be arrested again, but she made the decision to face these charges and come to trial. Why would she do that if she was guilty?"

"Objection, speculation."

"Sustained. Strike that."

"So your wife actually told you she wanted to face these charges?" DeWitt asked.

"Not in those words," Jack admitted. "But yes, she told me she was ready."

Kate had always lied. It began when she was a child, after her father left. She would lie to Wayne when he asked where things were in the house, just for the pleasure of confusing or annoying him. And then she would lie to her mother when confronted by her lies. She lied about eating her broccoli (she didn't) and climbing trees in her Sunday dresses (she did). When she hit puberty the lies became more numerous than truths: she lied about her friends, her grades, her after school activities. She lied about wearing make-up, and sneaking out at night, and kissing Tom. It was like her whole lifetime was practice for her years as a fugitive. By the time she was on the run, she didn't even know what truth felt like anymore. Other names were as good as her own, other pasts were better. She was out of practice now. The last few years on the island had involved few lies, of any kind. There was no point anymore, nothing to lie about. And now, when she needed to lie with mastery, and finesse, she was afraid the power was gone. Her throat was dry and tight, and she kept seeing Wayne, and her children, and she thought she might get on the stand and tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but.

"Can you state your full name for the court please?"

"Katherine Eleanor Shephard."

"Your legal name."

"Sorry — it's Katherine Eleanor Austen." She paused, glancing at the judge, and then the jury. "I was married on the island, by a Catholic priest who was on the plane, but we haven't had time to get a legal marriage license since we – since we were rescued. Maybe the judge can marry us." She smiled, a little, and a few members of the jury chuckled. The judge arched his eyebrows, but nodded to get on with it.

"Thank you. Please sit down."

Kate sat. From the witness stand she could see the audience: no reporters allowed, but the place was still packed. Some people she recognized, people from her town. Many faces were strange. Her eyes lighted on Hurley, sitting in the back row. Hurley was there. He smiled and waved.

"Mrs. Shephard — is it alright if I address the defendant as Mrs. Shephard?" Mr. DeWitt asked.

"Go ahead," the judge said, "Please make a note."

"Mrs. Shephard, we've heard a lot of testimony about your relationship with your biological father, Wayne Jansen. Can you tell us, in your own words, what that relationship was like?"

Kate nodded, and looked down at her hands for a moment. The best lies came from truth. "It was not good," she said. "He was – well, I thought he was my stepfather for most of my life. He moved in with my mom and I when I was almost six. Right after my dad moved out. I knew right away that I didn't like him. He didn't like me being around, he wanted my mother to himself. And my mother started 'hurting herself.' She would have these bruises. I was eight or nine when I first saw him actually hit her. He was drunk, which he was a lot of the time."

"Did he ever hit you?"

"No. I stayed out of his way. And I think he knew better than to try." She heard how that sounded, and added, not hurriedly, but as if it was part of the same thought, "My mom would put up with a lot, but I think – I mean, I hope that would have been too much, even for her." There, a lie. Nothing to it.

"Did he ever touch you, or attempt to touch you, sexually?"

"No. No… When I was a teenager, he liked to make comments. He was always saying things to me, about how pretty I'd turned out. It was weird, but he never tried anything."

"Did you ever tell anyone that you wished Mr. Jansen would die?"

"Probably. I mean, I was a teenager. I regularly expressed the hope that my gym teacher would die." Smiles from the jury. She had them. She started to relax a little, feel the story coming through her.

"When did you find out that Wayne was your real father?"

"When I was twenty. I was making a scrap book for my dad's birthday, and I wrote to some of his army buddies – which was when I figured out that he'd been in Korea when I was conceived. I didn't know it was Wayne, but I knew that he and my mom had dated before she married my dad, so it made sense."

"How did you feel then?"

How did she feel? Kate pressed her lips together, looking down at her lap. "I was scared," she said finally. "I didn't want to be related to Wayne, because I thought that meant that I would be like him, that that's all I could be."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"You didn't confront your mother?"

"No. I thought if I pretended I didn't know, it wouldn't be true. I just wanted it not to be true."

"Did it change how you felt about Mr. Jansen?"

"I guess… I guess I tried to look for more good in him." She smiled bittersweetly. "Like I could prove that I had a chance to be a good person, if there was something good about him."

"Tell us about the night Mr. Jansen died, Mrs. Shephard."

"I was with my friend Tom."

"Tom Brendon?"

"Yes."

"What were you doing?"

"Just sitting in his room, talking. He was home from med school, just for the summer. His parents thought I was a bad influence, so I climbed in through the window, and we were just hanging out. I was planning to leave town the next day."

"Really, the next day? That's quite a coincidence."

"I'm not sure I believe in coincidences," Kate said. "Maybe it was. Maybe it was fate. Surviving a plane crash changed my perspective on that, somewhat."

"Okay, so what did you do after you said goodbye to Tom?"

"I went to the diner my mom worked out. I wanted to tell her that I was leaving."

"What did you talk about?"

"I told her I'd taken out all my savings, and I was going to Florida. I'd never seen the ocean before."

"What did she say?"

"She thought I'd done something, that's why I was leaving. She never had a very high opinion of me. She kept asking me what I'd done: Katherine, what did you do?" This was what the witness from the diner had testified as well. Kate was giving the jury an excuse, to believe her.

Those were the last words her mother had said to her – to her, and not yelling to a guard. Katherine, what did you do? Kate swallowed, and looked down at the railing in front of her.

"Why do you think your mother went to the police after she found out Wayne was dead?" DeWitt asked gently.

Kate shook her head, real tears welling, genuine tears. She had not thought of that, in her brilliant plan. "I was always telling her that he was bad for her," she said. "I wanted her to leave him. I said things – that I wouldn't let him hurt her anymore. I guess she thought that meant that I… like I said, she didn't think much of me."

"What happened next?"

"Well, I left, like I was planning. I tried to leave. The police arrested me at the bus station. I didn't even know what for."

"But you never made it back to the police station."

"One of the men who arrested me, Edward Mars, was driving me back. There was a horse, who had gotten loose, and ran in front of the car. Mars swerved off the road, and lost control, and I – panicked. I didn't know what was going on, or what was going to happen. I stole his keys, and pushed him out of the car, and drove away."

"Kate, if you didn't do anything, why didn't you just go back with him?"

Moment of truth. Funny, since it was The Lie, the big one, the final, all important lie. Kate did not hesitate. "I was scared. Mars told me what they were arresting me for, and he told me a whole story, about why and how I had done it. It sounded plausible. I doubted myself; Wayne was somewhere inside of me, after all. I was scared of myself, and I thought, why would anyone believe me? My own mother thought I'd killed someone. Why would anyone else believe that I was innocent?"

She looked past DeWitt. Jack was sitting in the first row, watching her lie, perfectly, easily, convincingly.

* * *

In the third trimester of her first pregnancy, she told Jack the truth, the whole truth. She had a nightmare that her baby had Wayne's eyes, and she smashed its head on the ground to make them disappear. When she woke up, crying and gasping, Jack was there, and she had to tell him, there was nowhere left to hide. 

"I thought if I took all the bad in me, and _used it_, I could get rid of him, and it, at the same time. I could be free. But it didn't work like that. Killing him made me like him."

"Kate, you're not—"

"It made me just like him," she insisted, her voice full of tears and rage. "And now I will never get rid of him. I will never be anything but a murderer, the daughter of a drunk abusive—"

"Shh. That's not true, and you know it—"

"And what about our baby?" It was still dark inside their shelter, and Kate could just make out the curve of her own stomach, enormous now. She ran a hand over it, felt him stir inside. "The baby of a killer. How can he possibly be good?"

"Because he is _innocent_. Kate, we do not have to pay for what our fathers did," Jack insisted. She turned her head to see the blurred outline of his face. He had told her a bit, about his own father, and she knew he needed to believe that, but she couldn't, still. Jack, after all, had reason to believe he could be better than his father. Kate had reason to believe she could be worse. "And he – or she – will not have to pay for what either of us have done. He gets to start completely from scratch, and so do we. Maybe we'll screw it up, but if we do, it's in the future. It starts _now_, not before. And we can make that choice. We can be better parents than we had."

"I'll hurt him," Kate cried, a terrified whimper catching in her throat. She could feel him moving inside her, even as she said it, sensing her distress. He was a real, new person, and she could destroy him, just by being his mother. "I'll hurt him."

"No, you won't." He picked her up, her frail arms and enormous middle, and lifted her into the cradle of his body, rocking her as she cried. "We'll be better," he promised. "We'll be better."

In that moment, there were no lies, no misunderstandings, no barriers of any kind. She was open, she was raw and clean. He knew, and he held her anyway. He saw her, and he still believed she could be something good.

* * *

And now, watching her lie, did he still believe it? 

"Tell us about Tom Brendon," DeWitt said.

"He was my oldest friend. We were – we dated, for a while. But it was more than just a teenage romance, we were very close. He got away, he went to med school, and we grew apart, a little, but we were still… something."

"When was the last time you saw him?"

"I came back home, about two years after Wayne died. I found out my mother had cancer, she was dying. I wanted to see her, to say goodbye."

"Even though you knew it was dangerous? And she accused you of murder?"

"She was my mother."

"What happened?"

She told them all of it. On the island, she'd lived ten years beside people and never said a word, but here she told them everything. She ripped her heart out and held it out to them. This was a fight, after all, for survival. If they would let her go back to her children because they could see how much it hurt her to have caused Tom's death, then she would let them see. She cried, and DeWitt offered her Kleenex.

"And yet after all the harm it caused, you kept running?"

"I didn't know what else to do. I thought it was too late to start over. I was guilty, just not of what they accused me of. The only thing I knew how to do was run, so yes, I kept running. I went to Australia, tried to get as far away from people as possible. I thought, if I wasn't near anyone, I couldn't hurt them. But then Marshall Mars caught me, and he was bringing me back when the plane crashed."

"And you did get a chance to start over then, didn't you?"

"Yes." Her voice was thick with everything inside that word. "Yes, I did get a chance."

"Why did you stop running, Kate?"

"I know now that I can live a good life," she lied. "Before, it was running or – nothing. I had nothing to stay still for, and I was afraid of what I would do if I tried to start a family, or be happy. But now I have a family, and I know that I can do it. I have every reason in the world to settle down and be happy." That was the truth. She looked at Jack, longingly. "To do that, I have to take responsibility for the choices I made, which were stupid, and harmful, but not… malicious."

"Thank you. Those are all my questions."

The DA stood up. Trevor Daniels was a country attorney, he'd never tried a murder case before, but he wasn't stupid. He stood in front of the witness box and asked, "You say you don't believe in coincidence?"

"I don't know," Kate replied, uneasily.

Daniels nodded, smiled slightly. "See, I find that funny, because your entire case rests on… coincidence."

"Objection, testifying," DeWitt said quickly.

"Sustained."

"I'm sorry," Daniels said. He was playing up the Midwest accent, the befuddled down-home, good boy image. "I'm just confused."

"Ask a question," the judge instructed.

"I'm getting there. Mrs. _Shephard_… when did you get married?"

Kate wasn't expecting that one. "Excuse me?"

"It's a simple question."

"I… right before we were rescued," Kate said, glancing at Jack. She knew this would come across badly, but he had obviously gotten the information from somewhere, and she couldn't be caught in a lie.

"In fact, the day the ship arrived, isn't that right?"

"Yes, it was the day the ship came."

"Well, that's quite a coincidence, isn't it? Oh, sorry. You don't believe in coincidence."

"Objection."

"Sustained."

"Mrs. Shephard, why did you get married that day, after living together for all those years, having children together… why then?"

"It was… it had to do with civilization, coming back to a place where marriage meant something," Kate explained, only half a lie. "It's hard to explain, but on the island, we all knew where we stood. A ceremony didn't mean anything. There wasn't even a piece of paper to get. No… taxes, no next of kin, nothing like that. We were already all the things a husband and wife are, but there was no need to make it official there. There was no official. But when we saw the ship, we realized that was going to change. Marriage does mean something here. I mean, without being officially married, Jack almost couldn't come see me, they wouldn't even tell him where I was. Without being married, his parental rights are called into question, all kinds of things. It matters here, but it didn't there. So when we saw the ship, we thought we should make it official."

"I see. It didn't have anything to do with putting a wholesome spin on your life to impress the jury, then?"

"Objection!"

"Mr. Daniels, please stick to asking questions, and not answering them."

"Exhibit A, may it please the court." Daniels picked up a small blue rectangle from the table. The passport. Kate winced, imperceptibly.

"Exhibit A is entered into the court log."

"Mrs. Shephard, could you tell the court what this is, please?" He handed it to her, and she turned it over in her hands, without looking down.

"It's a passport," Kate said.

"What's the name inside it?"

She opened it, glanced down at the stranger's face looking up at her. "Anne Costell."

"Do you know anyone by that name?"

"No, I don't."

"Could you describe Anne Costell for us, please?"

"What do you mean?"

"Age, race, hair color…"

"She was… would be about thirty two. White. Brown hair."

"I see. Let it be noted that this passport was found on the defendant's person when she was taken into custody, coming off the island."

"So noted."

"Can you tell us why you had another woman's passport in your pocket that day, Mrs. Shephard?"

Jack didn't know about the passport. She tried not to look at him, at the fury in his face, to focus on the DA, and what she had to say here. She and DeWitt had talked about this. "In the early years, there was a lot of stuff floating around, from luggage, carry-ons. At some point, I took the passport, thinking that maybe when we were rescued, I would use it to try and run again. But by the time we _were_ rescued, I knew I couldn't keep running. I needed to face whatever happened. When I was packing up my things I found it, and I put it in my pocket. I guess I thought I'd give it back to her family, or something."

"You were going to give a stolen passport back to a dead woman's family?"

"I didn't really think about it. There was a lot going on."

"When the crew of the ship landed, you said your name was Kate Shephard. Why didn't you give your real name?"

"Kate Shephard is my real name."

"But you had _just_ gotten married. You knew that a passenger list would have your maiden name on it. Why didn't you give the name they would recognize you by?"

"I had just gotten married. It was my first chance to give my new name. It was exciting, being a wife." That was a bad excuse, it fell lame at her feet.

"You weren't trying to buy yourself some time to make a run for it, using this stolen passport?"

"No." Kate's voice was sharp, too sharp. She paused for a moment, didn't look at Jack. He would be angry, about the passport. He would think she had been lying to him; after all, he saw how good she was at it. She should never have told him the truth, now he had something to compare her to. Focus. When she started again, she was subdued. "Maybe I did want some time. This was all very sudden, for my children, and I wanted to be able to say goodbye to what had become my home, and to get them on board where they would be safe, and ease the transition. Maybe subconsciously, I was playing for time. But I wasn't going to use it to run. I never tried to run."

"No, you just got married so the jury would feel sorry for you."

"Objection."

"Sustained."

"That's okay. I'm done," Daniels said. He smiled up at her, all good natured Midwest earnest charm. "I have no further questions."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: I realize this took a while and is still quite short – but there's some payoff, finally, I promise. Hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving!**

**By the way, as I stated before, I am no legal expert - I am not really sure how long this kind of trial would take, or how long deliberations would take, so it is all done for dramatic effect, and I apologize for any glaring mistakes.  
**

* * *

Jack did not come to see her during the week between her testimony and closing arguments. He came to court every day, and sat silent and stone-faced in the first row, but he never came to see her before court or during recesses. He never spoke to her, or met her eyes directly. She could feel him at her back, every minute she sat in the courtroom, his penned-in anger. Did he really believe she'd been planning to betray him? He must think she was a pretty incompetent fugitive, if so. She suspected that he wasn't thinking, he was just letting his fear and cynicism run rampant. She wasn't the only one with trust issues.

Jack's mother brought the children for closing arguments. This was at DeWitt's specific request: he wanted the jury to see her as a mother, to see the happy family they would be destroying if they found her guilty. Kate didn't care about that; it was a chance, however brief, to touch them. They'd kept sending vids, one every week, and she could see them changing on that screen, learning new ways to speak and think and be. She needed to feel that, in their skin.

There was a late snowstorm, and the plane from LA was delayed, so Mrs. Shephard brought them in just before the judge entered. They were neatly dressed again, the boys in khakis and collared shirts and Emma in a blue dress with a cardigan, and her hair in two neat French braids. Mrs. Shephard was a handsome woman, straight-backed, with dyed dark hair and killer cheekbones. She looked tired, but mustered enough energy to give Kate a long look that found her utterly wanting. No warm adoptive mother here. Their eyes met for a long moment, and Kate felt the cold hazel settle into her stomach. The kids gave a joint cry, and the gaze broke, and Kate smiled, looking down at them.

Emma rushed up to the bar and tried to lift herself over. "Mommy! Mommy!"

"No, no, you have to stay on this side," Jack said, pulling her feet down to the floor.

Kate knelt down, beside the wooden railing, and put her arms through the bars. Emma pressed her face between them and Kate kissed her forehead, smoothed her hands over her braids. "Hey baby. You look so pretty."

"Mom, do you have to stay over there?" Will asked, leaning against the bar and Kate pushed herself up, still on her knees, and touched his face, and then Matt's, and nodded.

"Yeah, I do. Look at you, have you gotten taller?"

"Dad says I'm growing."

"You look pretty, Mom," Matt whispered, and Kate half-laughed, and touched his hair, and then Emma tried to wiggle through the bars and Jack had to pull her back before the bailiff intervened. The jury was shuffling into their seats, and Kate knew it was a spectacle, it could be seen as self-serving, her kneeling on the floor on the verge of tears trying to touch her children, but she couldn't seem to stop, couldn't stand up, until the bailiff said something to DeWitt, and he took her arm to lift her up.

"You just sit there quietly, okay?" she said. "Right between Dad and Grandma."

"Come on, Kate, sit down," DeWitt said. "That's enough."

No, it wasn't, not near enough. But she sat, and pressed a hand against her face, and looked forward, even though she could hear them sitting down, whispering, and Hurley greeting them – he had stayed, testifying to her character, making sure, he said, that DeWitt was worth the money he was spending – and he could touch them, give Will a high five, they were so close— And she was close. Closing arguments, and then the jury went away to deliberate. Soon enough she would know, one way or another. She just had to get through a little more. She put her hand down, in her lap, and lifted her head. She had made it through Wayne, and the crash, and the island. She could make it through this.

They said what everyone knew they would say. DeWitt pointed out that there was no physical evidence linking Kate to the crime. There were no material witnesses. There was only hearsay, speculation, and the mistaken flight of a scared young woman. Everyone ran away; in itself, that did not prove guilt. The people who knew Kate knew that she was a good person, that she deserved awards for her strength and leadership in a terrible situation, that civilization could be at least as civilized as a deserted island, where a group of disaster victims had chosen to believe that she was innocent until proven guilty, and had reaped the rewards of that decision in her tireless work for the common good.

In his turn, Daniels laid out her motives, her means, the flimsiness of her case, in which she used the friend whose death she had caused as an alibi, and just happened to leave town the day her stepfather was murdered. He discussed her disregard for other people, her disregard for the law. He pointed out that right up until her final arrest she had been carrying another passport, plotting new ways to escape. He asked that they not judge based on their sympathy for her, and her children seated right there in the front row. Maybe she had changed, maybe she hadn't. That wasn't the question. The question was whether she killed a man; and the answer was yes.

* * *

There was a fifteen minute recess after closing arguments, before the judge gave the jury their final instructions. Hurley and Mrs. Shephard split the kids between them for bathroom breaks. Jack followed Kate into the waiting room, and stood by the barred window, looking out.

She leaned against the back of a chair, her hands gripping the wood, waiting. She could see the movement of his back muscles even through his coat, the tension in his shoulders. He turned around to look at her. "Why didn't you tell me about the passport?"

"Do we have to do this now?" she asked.

"Oh, sorry. When would be better for you?" For such a fundamentally good man, he had a great aptitude for cruel sarcasm. Kate had always been astonished by that.

"I didn't tell you because I knew you would react like this," she said. "You would leap to conclusions—"

"You _manipulated _me!"

"Please, just listen for a second—"

"Why? So you can lie to me again? I have heard enough lies from you for a – for a _lifetime_. I cannot believe I was so gullible. You wanted to get married? You?" The scorn in his voice was like battery acid, burning holes in the part of her that needed to know he loved her.

"I did! I do. Jack, please."

"No. No. Admit it. Just tell me the truth for once, Kate. Tell me you were going to run away, if you had the chance. Tell me it wasn't real."

She thought of the island chapel, wood beams and dirt floor, and Emma dancing, and Jack holding her hands, and vowing. She had to put a hand over her mouth to hold back a sob. "It _was_. It was real, Jack. Please, you have to believe me. You said you would try."

"How can I?" he demanded. "You sit up there, so calm, so sure, and you _lie_, and you _lie_."

"Shh. Please, don't talk so loud."

"It doesn't matter," Jack snarled. "The case is closed. The jury can't hear me."

"Please. It was just so that I can be with you! So that I can be with the kids," Kate insisted.

"And what was the passport for?"

"Nothing, nothing. I was telling the truth, I just had it, I wasn't going to use it—"

"Stop it!" The distance had closed between them, and Jack grabbed her shoulders. His fingers dug in hard enough to bruise. "Stop lying to me."

She choked on the words, _I'm not lying_. She was, and she wasn't. "What about you, Jack? When you got up there and said I was innocent, you would _know_? What about when you said I was so helpful, and so good, and you could see a person's real colors? Was that all a lie, too? What about when you said you would be there with me, every step, and then it took you _three months_ to get here?" Her voice was rough and low with anger and unshed tears. "Why is it okay for you to lie, but not for me?"

His grip loosened, and he swallowed, shaking his head. "If you weren't going to use the passport, why didn't you tell me?" She stared back at him, wondering what would hurt him more: another lie, or the truth. His hands tightened again, convulsively. His eyes were flinty, desperate. "Tell me the truth, Kate, or so help me god, I am not coming back."

"Sawyer gave it to me," she said. He tensed, a wave of anger and jealousy rolling through him. Kate hurried on before it could crash on her head. "It didn't mean anything, I wasn't going to use it, I just took it, because he was trying to help. I just took it, and I put it in my pocket, and I forgot about it. And that is _it_. That is all."

"He wanted you to run away with him," Jack said, very low and tight.

"Yes."

"And you wanted to go."

"I didn't go, Jack."

"But you wanted to."

"No."

"Stop lying."

"I'm not."

"_Stop_."

"Yes." Yes. Her shoulders shook, and she rocked forward, her voice a keening, almost soundless wail. "Yes. But I _didn't_."

Silence. Kate raked her hair back, and looked at him. The rage was gone, completely; he was just looking at her, his face completely impenetrable. Even after all these years, she could not tell if he was disgusted, if he understood, if he was disappointed in her, or ready to forgive. He just stared, and then the recess was over.

* * *

The judge instructed the jury that they must produce a unanimous verdict for each separate charge. He explained that to be found guilty, there must be no reasonable doubt. He pointed out that the charge of murder in the first degree required that the crime be premeditated. He said all of this in a weary tone, as if it meant nothing to him. Like a story you don't really want to tell at a cocktail party.

Kate looked at the faces of the jury members. One looked back, an older man, but she couldn't meet his eyes.

* * *

They took her back to her cell after the jury began deliberations. It could be, DeWitt explained, days. They had to review the evidence for each separate crime, and if there were any disagreements, try to resolve them. These sorts of things took a while, even in clear cut cases. She shouldn't worry.

In her cell, she leaned her forehead against the concrete wall, and tried to picture anything but Jack's face. Emma in her dress, Matt's eyelashes, Will's straight back and grown-up demeanor. That juror, who looked at her. Hurley, in a suit, taking the stand. Anything but Jack, who might have decided not to forgive her for this… not betrayal. She hadn't betrayed him. She hadn't done anything. But that wouldn't matter if he didn't want to forgive her; like her real guilt wouldn't matter if the jury found her innocent. There was something strange and not right about any of this. If the world really was fair, she would be locked up for the rest of her life, but Jack, at least, would trust her.

She was still standing there, with her forehead against the stone, when they came back for her. The jury had returned a verdict, in one hour and twenty three minutes.

* * *

They'd been at the park, making a snowman, when DeWitt called Jack to come back to court. The kids were wearing snowsuits now over their nice clothes, and they had pink cheeks and hair wet with melted snow. Kate didn't look at Jack, because she didn't want to see him hoping she would be found guilty.

The jury members looked grave, silent. They still avoided her eyes, and she fixed her gaze on the table. Footsteps, carrying the verdict to the judge, who looked it over. "Madam Foreperson, have you reached an unanimous verdict?"

"We have, your honor."

"What find you?"

Kate looked up. The forewoman had red hair, dyed, and deep lines around her mouth. She was looking at a piece of paper held in her hand. "For the crime of murder in the first degree, we find the defendant not guilty."

There was a gasp — Will, she thought, he was old enough to understand that much. She couldn't move. The woman was still talking. "For the crime of resisting arrest, we find the defendant guilty. For the crime of escaping the custody of law enforcement, we find the defendant guilty. For the crime of armed robbery, we find the defendant guilty. For the crime of document fraud, we find the defendant guilty."

"What does that mean?" Matt whispered behind her. Not guilty, guilty. She was free and not free. Free of Wayne, and not free of herself.

DeWitt put his hand on her arm. "Kate, this is good news," he said. "Congratulations. Now, there'll be a sentencing hearing for the lesser crimes—"

The judge was thanking the jury for their service. There was a buzz behind, all the voices blending together. She didn't hear Jack's among them. She couldn't think. "The sentencing hearing is set for tomorrow morning at 10 am—"

"Your honor, I'd like to request an extension," DeWitt said, standing up. "Some of the witnesses I'd like to call are several thousand miles away, and prefer not to fly, for reasons I think we can all appreciate."

"How long do you need?"

"Just until Monday, if that pleases the court."

"That's fine. Monday at 10 am, we will hear arguments for sentencing. Bailiff, please return to the prisoner to the jail in the meantime."

Back to jail. Only now she was the prisoner and not the defendant. Panic closed her throat. DeWitt was talking but she wasn't listening. Free of Wayne, but not of herself.

"Kate, listen to me. This is going to be fine. We'll put all your friends up there, your husband, everyone will talk about what a good citizen you are. Maximum is ten years, but I'm betting they knock it down to three, with good behavior you're out in 18 months."

Kate was nodding, and she turned to look over her shoulder at her kids, who looked confused — "but if Mommy didn't do it, then why can't she come home with us now?" Emma was asking Hurley. Jack just looked at her, just kept looking, his lips parted, expressionless. Free of Wayne, she thought, but not of herself.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Just to reiterate how little this is based in legal reality, it occured to me a couple days ago that most crimes have a statute of limitations, so Kate could not even be tried for many of the crimes she has now been found guilty of. Oops. However, what's done is done, for the purposes of this story.

Feedback is very much appreciated.

* * *

Sun testified first at the sentencing hearing. She and Jin had flown back from Korea; before the trial, when she peeked in to say hello, she said it was the excuse they needed to return to the U.S., where they hoped to stay. She testified that Kate was her closest friend on the island, that Kate had asked to work in her garden, and was always bringing plants back from other parts of the island. She spoke of becoming mothers together, of the trials of raising children in a place with no diapers, no bottles, no plastic child safe toys. She testified about conversations they had had, dreams about being rescued, and how Kate spoke of quiet things, of her family. Kate tried to remember that conversation, where they had been, what she had said. The island felt so far away. Her freckles were all fading, and her feet felt normal in heels again. She couldn't conjure the taste of mango melting on her tongue.

Eighteen months was too long. Not what she deserved, but too long anyway. By then the kids would be used to school, would be entirely different people, and Jack would be working, ten hours a day, he would be a doctor, he would meet a nurse, or a patient, and Kate would be an embarrassment, they would not know what to say to her when she emerged.

Hurley testified again. Claire and Charlie. They were living in Los Angeles. Charlie was recording songs he'd written, on the island, and he'd been in magazines, on David Letterman. They'd trundled all the kids into the car and driven out to Iowa, since Claire refused to go anywhere near an airplane. Her parents wanted them to move back to Australia, but neither were in a hurry to go. Charlie talked about their first walk through the jungle, and how Kate insisted on going back for Jack, when the smart thing would have been to run, far and fast. "She's always looking out for people," he said firmly. "If she did all these things – running away from the police, all that – it's because she thought she had to. But she knows what's really important. She was the one, y' know, who everybody trusted right off. She would step in if people were fightin', or being idiots. It's a crime to lock her up. I mean, she's been prisoner on an island for ten years, what more d' you want from a person?"

John Locke testified. He was in a wheelchair, and a woman with brown hair pushed him in and sat beside him holding his hand until he was called. She looked kind. Kate glanced back at Jack, who mouthed, "I'll tell you later," as if nothing was wrong. Maybe nothing was wrong. She didn't know. They hadn't talked.

George and Sally and Jake all testified. Everyone seemed to think very highly of her. Kate was not sure what her behavior on the island had to do with the crimes she had been found guilty of, but DeWitt just kept parading crash victims up there. They all talked about the hardships, the daily struggle, the hopelessness, and how Kate was good humored and helpful, and strong. She thought, I was happy there, that's why they all liked me.

* * *

She remembered that feeling, being happy. Year six, she helped Will and Aaron and Hea make a giant sandcastle, with walls so high they could sit inside and not be seen, and turrets, and tiny windows. They didn't know what a castle was supposed to look like, so the turrets were rectangular, not pointed, and the windows were low to the ground, so they had to lie on their stomachs to look through.

Sometimes she and Sun would stay in the garden late, long after they should have put their children to bed and gone to sleep. They knew someone else would. They would talk, and talk, of silly things, of adolescent crushes and coveted shoes, of movies and first periods, and bad hair cuts. She had never been very good at female friendships, she had always been one of the boys, or the one the boys wanted. Other girls didn't like that. But she and Sun were happy, sitting among the rows giggling, and talking of nothing.

Before the children had a separate shelter, she and Jack would sneak away with a quiet whisper to a friend. They made love under the waterfall, and on the grass of a meadow, and once against a tree (she had splinters, later, and refused to give that a second try). They lay down on the damp sand, just where the waves lapped their toes, and were stupidly happy, counting stars, and scars (Kate had more, but just), and whispering even though no one was there to overhear.

She liked to watch Jack be a father. He had this look of absolute wonder, and even though she knew that every man looked at his babies that way, she could never quite believe that anyone else felt it so deeply. The first time Will was hurt – he slipped and hit his head on a rock – was the only time she had ever seen Jack panic. He sat up all night, watching Will sleep, even though he was fine, absolutely fine. She loved that. She loved even more when they taught him how to play, when he chased his sons down the beach and caught them up, tickling, laughing, dignity forgotten as they wrestled in the sand. She would join in, occasionally, when she couldn't help herself; she wanted it to be Jack's time, she wanted him to have this with his sons, but sometimes she could not watch anymore, and she would leap into the fray, tickling everything in arm's reach, until Will climbed on top of her and pinned her and Jack both to the ground, sand in their hair and mouths, breathless, and they would kiss, surreptitiously, while the boys proclaimed their triumph. She was happy then.

* * *

She knew she should be happy now. She was not going to prison for life. She had, against all odds, been exonerated of a crime for which she was guilty. She had taken a man's life, without sacrificing her own. But, even eighteen months was too long. Maybe it was too late for her to be happy. Maybe it was stolen happiness; maybe Jack only really loved her on the island. Maybe this was her punishment.

Jack took the stand for the second time, on the morning of the second day of the sentencing hearing. She wore her hair down, in some strange hope that he might remember how it felt when he put his hands in it.

"Are you a lawful man, Mr. Shephard? You follow the rules?"

"Always. I'm a doctor. You can't take on that kind of responsibility if you're not willing to bend to rules."

"What do you mean?"

Jack looked down for a second, his eyebrows drawing together, and then look back up, clear. "My father was an alcoholic," he said. "And a doctor. He killed a woman, a pregnant woman, because he was drunk at work one day."

"He killed her accidentally?"

"Yes. I guess I should say… he didn't save her."

"Mr. DeWitt, is this relevant?" the judge asked.

"It speaks to the credibility and character of the witness, Your Honor. I'm confident you'll see the relevance if you let me continue." 

"Go ahead."

DeWitt turned back to Jack. "And what happened to your father?"

"He asked me to lie for him, so he wouldn't lose his medical license. At first I… did. He was my father, he'd made a mistake. It's possible the woman would not have survived anyway. But I couldn't go through with it. I told the hospital committee the truth, and my father lost his license. He drank himself to death in Australia."

"Do you regret your decision to tell the truth, knowing the consequences?"

"No. Because I know what the consequences would have been if I had lied."

"Thank you, Mr. Shephard. Now, could you tell me please, honestly, do you think your wife is a danger to society?"

"No. Absolutely not."

"Why not? She's been convicted in this court room of breaking the law. We heard testimony in the criminal trial that she recklessly put other people's lives in danger. You're a man who abides by the rules. You testified against your father, for the good of society. Why are you here, now, testifying for your wife?"

There was a beat, and Kate waited for Jack to say that he wasn't, he was wrong, she was a liar and a menace and should be locked up. He looked straight at her and said, "Because she's changed."

"Changed in what way?"

"When I first met Kate, I didn't trust her, and maybe then, I was right to. I said in the trial, and it's true, that she was always a leader, right from the beginning. But back then, she would lie about things that didn't… that only ended up hurting her. It was like she didn't know how to tell the truth, about anything that mattered." Kate tensed, remembering the case, remembering futile, wasted, blighted moments between them. He thought she had changed. That meant he forgave her. "She was scared and hurt; she'd lost or been betrayed by everyone she'd loved, including herself. So she was dishonest, and it's entirely possible she did bad things before the crash, she broke the rules and hurt people while doing it. But trapped there, she couldn't run away anymore, she had to learn to live where she was, with the people around her. 

"And she did learn, better than anyone. It was hard, and it took time, but we had a lot of time." He smiled faintly, shook his head. "I watched her change. I didn't always trust what I was seeing, but I saw it. She stopped lying. She followed the rules – she helped make the rules. What happened when the ship rescued us was only the result of years of difficult, slow, incredible change. She could have tried to run, then, tried to take the kids with her, or used them somehow to maneuver herself into a better position – but she didn't. She let herself be arrested. If I hadn't testified against my father, he would have kept drinking at work, would have been responsible for more deaths; he had always chosen alcohol, and he always would. But Kate chose our family." He stopped, choked up, and Kate wanted to hold out her hands to him, wanted to kiss him and say that she was sorry, for making him sit in front of a room of people and say these things, but that he was right, he was right, she had chosen, she had chosen him, as strongly as she knew how. He took a deep breath and looked right at her. "I believe that she will keep choosing our family," he said, "so no, I don't think she's any danger to anyone. She's changed."

He didn't say it in so many words, but she knew he was apologizing. And she knew nothing was ever final, and that a year from now, ten years from now, they would still have this argument, about Sawyer, about her past, about his judgment and her failure. But that was okay, because they would be together in a year, in ten years. Well, in eighteen months, in ten years. Kate felt the tears welling and had to dab at them quickly with her fingers. There was a future, still. There was hope. DeWitt better know what the hell was talking about, because she wanted to marry her husband, again, and make love to him on a real bed.

* * *

The prosecution only called one witness: Tom's wife, Rachel. Former wife, she was remarried now, had a different last name. She was blond, still pretty, but down to earth. She wouldn't look at Kate.

"Tell us about your husband, Tom Brendon."

"He was… so good. Kind, funny. We fell in love in med school. He was one of those guys you could always depend on. And such a good father – he really loved Connor, our son. He would get so excited about every little thing Connor did – grabbing his toes, or his first word, or when learned how to laugh…" She stopped, put a hand over her mouth. Kate found herself doing the same, without meaning to. She could see Tom as a father. Once, they had planned to have children, hordes of children. She had never had the heart to tell him that she didn't want any. What would he say if he saw her now?

"What did you know about his relationship with Kate Austen?"

"I knew they were old friends, that they'd dated in high school. He was sort of defensive about her, because I didn't understand how he could speak so fondly of a murderer."

"Objection," DeWitt said.

"Noted. Mrs. Williams, Kate Austen was exonerated of murder charges."

"I heard."

"Go on."

"How did your husband die?"

"He was in the car with her – with the defendant. I never knew exactly why… if she kidnapped him, or forced him into the car, or if he was trying to help her. He was in the passenger seat, and she was running from the police. They ordered her to stop, but she wouldn't, so they opened fire. Tom was shot, multiple times."

"What happened then, Mrs. Williams?"

"She left him there," Rachel murmured. "She left him." Her voice gained strength with every word, twisted and in pain. "They were right in front of a hospital, but she didn't try to help him, she didn't try to save him, she didn't even pause to mourn, she just left him, to die. She killed him, and then she left him to die."

No one had ever hated her that much before. She herself had hated, she had hated with that force and passion, and with less justification. But no one had ever hated Kate that way. She wanted to tell Rachel how it really was, wanted to tell her that Tom had been gone already, that there was nothing she could have done then, that the only way to honor his death had been to keep running, or else it was for nothing, she couldn't let it be for nothing— She wanted to tell her that she'd loved him, and she was sorry, sorrier than she had been for anything, and she mourned him every day. She wanted to tell her all these things, but it was Tom's wife's right to hate her, and she couldn't take that away. She was the bad guy, here… everywhere. She had been found not guilty for one murder, but she knew, and Rachel knew, that there were other crimes on her conscience.

* * *

Jack came to see her in the jail while the judge was deliberating her sentence. "I have roommates now," she reported when he sat down across the table from her. They had let him visit in the normal visiting room now, since she was only a normal criminal and not a murderer. Another woman sat at the opposite end of the table with her sister, looking at pictures of something. "They moved me out of solitary."

"Is it like a sleepover?" he asked, picking up her light tone.

"I was never invited to sleepovers," Kate admitted. "Not the ones with girls anyway…" He arched his eyebrows questioningly, and she smiled.

"We had a kind of reunion dinner last night. Everyone's staying until the sentence comes back, so the hotel is a little crazy," Jack reported.

"Did they give you a group rate? Weddings, funerals, criminal trials…"

"I don't think that's on the list, no."

Kate's eyes flickered over his face, drinking in his closeness, his relaxed look. It was okay, they were okay.

"How is everybody? Why is Locke in a wheelchair?"

"I'm not sure, actually," Jack said. "When we left the island, he started using one. He didn't want to talk about it."

"Doesn't that drive him crazy? I can't imagine Locke confined—"

"I know. But he seems okay, actually. The way he talks about it is as if he knew. And he's engaged now, to the woman who came with him to court. I think he knew her before the crash."

"That's nice. You'll have to bring me pictures of the wedding." She looked down at the table. Everyone was starting their lives again, settling in. She was stuck here, in perpetual limbo.

"Speaking of weddings," Jack said. "When are we going to be legally married?"

She looked up again, her lips twitching. "You just want that conjugal visit." Jack smiled, ducking his head. She reached across the table to touch him, her index finger stroking the skin between his thumb and palm of his hand.

"Let's see what the sentence is," she said. "If it's not too long, maybe we can wait, and have a real wedding."

"Not too big."

"No. But I know a few people in a nearby hotel who might kill us if we got married without inviting them again."

They talked about his work; Jack had to finish his residency, but he was considering switching to internal medicine. Spinal surgery had advanced while he was gone, and he would have to begin all over again, on top of which surgery was extremely time consuming, and Jack wanted to have more time to spend with the kids. Left unsaid was that Kate might not be there to fill in for him. She thought about Jack's mother, and how she would help out until Kate could go home. Even if it was only two years, or three, that would be half of Emma's life. Mrs. Shephard would be as much her mother as Kate was. Jack noticed her distraction, but she shrugged it off, and he went on. Internal medicine was what he knew now, what he had been doing for the past ten years, and it would be easier to transfer into private practice as a general practitioner with certification in internal medicine. She wondered what he wasn't saying, about surgery, about his own driving professional ambition, exactly how much he was prepared to sacrifice. She didn't ask, because she didn't want to know; she was privately, guiltily, glad he was moving to a less demanding specialty, even if it wasn't what he was passionate about. They all made choices.

* * *

Sawyer called in the morning, before the judge returned with the sentence. "I heard today's the big day," he said in his familiar drawl.

Kate was surprised to hear his voice; there had been no word, all these months. "I guess it is."

"That all you got to say, Freckles?"

"How are you, Sawyer?"

"Me? I'm dandy. I told you I'd get that money out of Hurley – thought it'd be a lot harder'n it was, but I'm not complaining."

"Yeah, I never would have guessed that he was rich. He's been paying for my lawyer, so I owe him now, really."

"Well ain't that sweet. Is everyone there, all singing campfire songs and talking about the good old days?"

"I don't know. I mean, a lot of people came to testify. But I've only seen them in court." There was a long pause and Kate leaned her forehead against the wall of the phone cubby. Why was he calling now? How much, she wondered, did he know. For instance, had he heard about the passport? It didn't matter, she supposed. It was unlikely that they would see each other again. When she got out, she was going to be a doctor's wife, and money or no money, he would always be a con man. Maybe he would try to con her someday. "It's good to hear your voice, Saywer."

"Yeah, well. Just called to say congratulations for wiggling out of the murder charges. And, uh, good luck, today. You give me a call when you bust out of there. And by 'there' I mean your so-called marriage."

She closed her eyes. "I will, Sawyer." But she never would. "Thank you." There was only silence; he had already hung up the phone.

* * *

The judge had taken a full day to consider the evidence and the sentencing recommendations of both the prosecution and the defense. When he came back, just over a week after the verdict was returned, he didn't waste time with preliminaries.

"The defendant left quite a mess behind her as she ran from law enforcement for three years. But, due to some quite extraordinary circumstances, she was given something of a reprieve, in which to consider her behavior, and we've had abundant testimony that suggests she did so and came to a very positive conclusion. Perhaps, as the defendant noted in her testimony during the trial, it was chance, and perhaps it was something more; this, we cannot judge. What we can judge though, is fair punishment for the crimes committed. For the crime of resisting arrest, we sentence the defendant to six months in custody. For the crime of escaping from custody, we sentence the defendant to six months in custody. For the crime of armed robbery, we sentence the defendant to five years in custody. For the crime of identification fraud, we sentence the defendant to two years in custody.

"The full sentence of nine years we consider served in full, based on the defendant's tenure on an island devoid of human civilization for a period of ten years; this is, to our mind, punishment enough, and the defendant's rehabilitation in this setting is at least as, if not more, complete than it would be in a state facility. The defendant is ordered to serve three years probation, and is now free to go."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: A short, final epilogue to what became a much longer story than I originally intended, or imagined. Thank you all so much for the support and wonderful feedback - I was sure everyone was going to yell at me for pulling out a suspended sentence at the end of the last chapter, but I guess people like a little unreality now and then. Or maybe the people who wanted to yell at me just were disgusted, and didn't comment. Either way, thanks for reading. It's been fun.**

* * *

She lay with them until they fell asleep, and after, all four in one queen size bed. Emma's breath swept across her cheeks, and Matt's face was nestled in the crack where her back met the bed, one of his hands laid flat against her back. In the dim light from the other room, Kate could count Emma's eyelashes. Occasionally she would sigh, or move her face a little against Kate's hand, as if her dream self was checking, just to make sure Mommy was there.

Mommy was there. Kate lay perfectly still, and looked, and counted their breaths, and told herself that it was over. She didn't believe it yet. She was waiting for the door to burst open. She was sure that lying there, she was placing them in harm's way. And yet. She could not seem to stand up. It would not be possible for her to love them more, these small people that she made. She would do better, in the future. She would stay.

* * *

After dinner, Claire had taken the kids to Walmart to give Jack and Kate a moment alone. She returned with pajama pants (blue, with little yellow stars), a pack of Hanes underwear, and white socks. Kate didn't have any shoes she could wear socks with, since the only ones she owned at the moment were heels DeWitt had brought for her to wear in court, but she thanked Claire anyway. Someday she would own sneakers again.

She was still thinking of everything in the future tense. The uncertain, far-off future, not the tomorrow future.

She took a bath in the bathroom of their hotel suite. There was bubble bath, and her toes wrinkled. She had forgotten that could happen.

In her silly pajama bottoms, and one of Jack's T-shirts, she felt almost like a person again. The kids wanted a story. They all wanted to sit on her lap; they all wanted to touch her face. Jack smiled and laughed at everything. Kate sang them to sleep. Later, after she managed to pull herself away, Jack tried to sing her to sleep, but she was too startled by the softness of the bed. She swam in and out of consciousness, turning her head to watch him there, count his eyelashes.

* * *

The first morning she woke up with Jack, she was still sticky and startled from the night before. She didn't know what she had expected, though she had been in love plenty of times, and sex – well, not even worth thinking about the number of times she had done that. She felt silly, but in her head she thought, this was different, this was new.

She woke up to the sight of his back, curled slightly. At night, they both had a habit of creeping apart, shaking each other off. It had taken years for them to learn to sleep together. That first morning, they were not even touching. She drew a breath in, and wanted so much to run away. She thought, _if I am very quiet_— But she knew it was a lie. There was nowhere to go. Even if she made it out of the tent, he would be there. She could not avoid him. In reality, she didn't want to. It was only that she did not know what to say, how to be his lover. Sometimes she wasn't even sure if they were friends.

She stared at his back, and measured the length to the door, and how quickly she could get on clothes, and who would be awake this early in the morning to see her emerge alone from Jack's tent. She reminded herself that this had been her choice, she had wanted to come. She had thought about it, and dreamt about it, and hesitated until her body ached, and she had chosen to come to him, because she had known that he would never come to her.

She held herself still.

He woke up, eventually. His shoulder twitched, and then he turned onto his back, blinking. Her eyes twisted over his tattoo. 5. Five seconds, and the fear is gone.

He turned his head to look at her. "Hi," he said, his brow wrinkling a little. There was a ghost of a smile around his lips, but it seemed to be waiting to come to life.

She tried to smile, to reassure him. "Good morning."

He rubbed a hand over his face. She wondered if he was rubbing her away, if he would rather have woken up alone. He could hardly have refused her, coming into his tent in the dark — but she didn't think it had been that kind of night. "You're here," he said finally, looking up at the ceiling. She didn't know what that meant. She sat up, clutching his shirt over her breasts. Startled, he sat up too.

"I'm sorry, I'll—"

"No! No." He grabbed her arm, their first touch of the morning. Her nerves tingled all the way up, remembering. "I meant… I didn't mean you should go. Please, stay."

His grip on her arm loosened, but he didn't stop touching her. She looked up at him, their eyes sparking. She should not have sat up, that was a mistake. Let's try this waking up thing again. "Hi," she said, her lips twitching into a smile.

"Hi," he said again.

"I think I'm in love with you," she confessed.

"I know I'm in love with you," he replied, with a rueful smile. He was shaking his head when she caught his face in her hands, and lifted his chin to kiss him good morning.

* * *

Kate had forgotten about upholstered chairs, and how you could sit with your whole body curled up inside the small square, knees pressed against the arm and feet falling asleep. She was watching Jack sleep. It was 3:19 in the morning. The ache behind her eyes meant she was tired, but she couldn't get out of the chair, couldn't do anything but stare at Jack's back as he slept. She wondered if the hotel had an all night bar, and then remembered it was Iowa. She had forgotten about upholstered chairs, but bars she remembered.

He woke, suddenly, gasping as he reached for her. He turned his head, made out her shape in the dark, stilled. "Are you okay? What time is it?"

"Late. Early. I'm fine, I'm just… can't sleep."

"I thought you were tired." She had said that, and he had put her to bed without question, had simply held her.

She shrugged. He pushed himself up, leaning against the back board. He was losing his tan too, or maybe it was just the pale light. "What's going on?" he asked. "Where are you right now?"

How well they knew each other. She smiled slightly. "Neverland."

His brow creased. "You don't want to grow up?"

"I'm afraid that I'm going to wake up. Because this could never really happen."

"Ah." He nodded. "How long do you think it'll take before you realize that Neverland is a real place?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe when they stick us in a nursing home of the same name."

Jack smiled. "It's real, Kate," he said. "This is it. You're free."

Free. She nodded, absently, her eyes sliding across the wrinkled white sheets. Abruptly she readjusted her seat, drawing one knee up, and rubbing a hand over her face. "Are we going to drive back?"

"If you want to. We can rent a van. Kate… we don't have to go to LA. I mean, we have to go there to get stuff, at some point, and the kids are in school. But I meant what I told them, about going wherever you want. Since I'm changing my focus for my residency, I don't have to stay at the same hospital. And LA has a lot of… I don't necessarily want to be there."

"I don't know," she said. "It's been a long time since I thought about it. And Claire and Charlie are there, that would be nice, to know someone. And your mother."

"She would be upset if we left," Jack admitted.

Kate's lips twitched. "She doesn't like me."

"She doesn't know you."

"That's what all husbands say." Not Kevin, though, Kevin's mother had loved her.

"I guess so."

Would they have another wedding? The possibility seemed exhausting at the moment, but Kate supposed it might be nice. Another chance to wear white and say her vows and mean them. And then what came after that?

"Kate?"

Jack was squinting at her in the dark. She rolled her neck around to look at him, and clasped her knees close to her body and said, "What am I going to do?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what am I going to _do_? I have never held a real job, Jack. I never went to college. I barely graduated high school! I've been a fugitive since I was twenty three, and now I'm thirty six." She didn't say, I can't be your housewife, but she supposed he knew that anyway. She wouldn't try, and fail again.

"What do you want to do?" Jack asked, looking at her as if he meant it, as if she could do anything, in the world.

"I don't know."

"You don't need to know, now. You have time. We have time to figure all this out."

Funny listening to Jack tell her she didn't need to know what to do next. "You always knew what you wanted to do."

"That's because..." It was still hard for him to say, even to her, but finally he did, "because I was trying to prove something to my father." His lips quirked. "Maybe I really wanted to be an accountant." The suggestion was so ridiculous that after a beat he shook his head. "No."

"No."

She curled her neck down, until her forehead touched her knees. She was free, and the truth was that she was more scared than she had been when she was running. Now she had to be something, now she had to grow up and choose a life.

"You could lead wilderness hikes," Jack suggested suddenly. "But you'd probably have to guarantee no one would get eaten by polar bears."

She lifted her head and peered at him. He was looking back, straight-faced. She laughed. "You're not funny."

"I can be funny."

"No, you can't. You're not funny, Jack." But she was laughing anyway, and then they were meeting, halfway between the chair and the bed, kissing. Their smiles got in the way, they kissed lightly with their curved lips. Their eyes caught, and the smiles disappeared, replaced with urgency, desire, different expressions of joy. Jack's hands slid beneath her T-shirt, across her skin. She leaned into him, letting go of gravity. He caught her up, and up.

**Fin**

* * *

A/N: Originally I planned this chapter as a ten-years-later sort of thing, but then I realized my vision of their future was not the point of this story. I wanted to leave it open, for everyone to imagine as they will what happens next. However, since I did go to the trouble to plan out this whole future... if you really want to know, comment (ideally with some feedback included) and I will tell you my personal vision. Otherwise, the sky is no limit, imagine away.

Thanks again.


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